Ever find yourself poking around for a hamin recipe or something equally hearty for the weekend—especially when the usual suspects start to feel boring? Same here. There’s something about slow-cooked comfort that calls out when you need a Sabbath-ready meal with serious soul. Hang tight, though. Today, I’m taking a quick detour from stews and into a steaming bowl of Polish Potato Soup (Zupa Ziemniaczana), which is honestly the culinary cousin of all those long-simmered wonders you adore. Grab a peek at my go-to spot for tasty ideas (Julienne Recipes), or if you’re more about summer sips, I seriously loved the Malibu Bay Breeze. Anyway, this soup? It’s cheap, cozy, and foolproof. 
You will need:
Let’s not overthink it—this isn’t a five-star restaurant recipe, but I swear it tastes like one on a cold day. All you need are potatoes, a couple carrots, and onions. Some folks (me included) throw in a celery stalk if it’s lurking in the fridge. Keep it basic or toss in whatever’s on its last legs. You’ll want garlic—garlic is non-negotiable where I’m from—and a sprinkle of fresh parsley doesn’t hurt either.
Butter or oil, your call. A touch of smoked bacon also hits different. Oh, and bay leaves. You’d regret skipping those, trust me. Lastly, some bread on the side for dunking. Or just eat straight from the bowl if you’re as hungry as I usually am by soup time. 
Quick Recipe:
Okay, no culinary gymnastics here. You peel and chop everything about the same size—don’t stress if it’s uneven; rustic is the vibe. Sauté onions and bacon in a soup pot with a fat knob of butter. Once everything gets golden and smells like heaven, in go the diced potatoes, carrots, and that stray celery.
Pour in water or a bit of stock if you’re feeling fancy. Toss in bay leaves and garlic, then simmer on low. After maybe 30 minutes (test a potato chunk; if it’s soft, you’re golden) smush a handful of potatoes against the side of the pot to naturally thicken the soup. Persuade your taste buds with salt, pepper, parsley.
That’s it. Polish potato soup, just the way my grandma would make if she had internet and a little more patience. Serve it hot because, let’s face it, cold soup is prison food unless it’s gazpacho. 
Sephardic Chejados: Candied Coconut Tarts
You’re wondering why a coconut tart pops up in the middle of a post about Polish Potato Soup? I get it. But honestly, when you’re already in the kitchen, whipping up a tray of Sephardic Chejados is almost too easy not to mention. They’re sweet, golden, sticky little pies. Usually made for special occasions, but I’ll make them on a Tuesday if the craving hits.
Crack some eggs, stir in coconut and sugar, bake until the tops look toasty. That’s the gist. You could use the quiet bubble of your soup to multitask. Kids hovering around? This’ll distract them (or you, no judgment). It’s the vibe of Sabbath cuisine—sharing, indulging, stretching what you have.
I made the potato soup and chejados last week—everyone said it brought back memories of their own family kitchens. I didn’t have enough coconut, but nobody complained; they just wished there was a double batch.
Huevos Haminados: Seven Hour Eggs
Do you even know bliss until you’ve had seven hour eggs? They’re the slow-cooked jewels of Sabbath prep. Stick eggs, shells unpeeled, under the soup lid or in a slow-cooker with onion skin and coffee grounds (seriously, the color is wild). Forget them for half the day.
Peel them at dinner; they’re buttery and brown, almost fudgey. Eat one with your soup, and suddenly, the meal feels festival-worthy. These eggs tell time by flavor. More patience? Better eggs. No patience? Hard-boiled is fine, but you will think about these ones for days.
Basic Hummus – A culinary evidence that our world is getting smaller
Okay, talk about a mash-up—hummus and Polish potato soup on the same table? Why not. My crew dunks everything in hummus, and it’s not like there are culinary borders in my kitchen. Chickpeas, tahini, lemon juice, olive oil—don’t sweat the ratios. Just blend, taste, repeat. Serve with your soup, spoon it straight, or invite pita to the party.
The world is shrinking and so are the food rules. Sabbath food from everywhere shows up. Kid you not, last Friday we had hummus, potato soup, and a tray of Sephardic coconut tarts. Nobody blinked.
Common Questions
Is Polish Potato Soup gluten-free?
Yep, usually. Just skip any flour thickener and double-check your broth is safe.
Can I freeze this soup?
Absolutely. Let it cool, then freeze it in a big container. It may get thicker, so just add water when you reheat.
What’s the secret for big flavor?
Bacon makes it sing, but smoked paprika or a good veggie stock steps up the taste too.
What if I have no parsley or celery?
No stress. Use whatever greens you’ve got, or skip it all together. It’ll still taste like home.
Any bread to serve with it?
Crusty bread is classic. Rye is traditional, but honestly, I’ve dipped crackers, leftover pita, even pizza crusts once. Not fancy, just true.
Let this be your next kitchen adventure
Alright, so you started searching for a hamin recipe, and now look at you—ready to make a soup even grandma would nod at. Remember, the best part of all these Sabbath traditions (honestly, Hamin Shabbat Tfina, or classic Sephardic Hamin, or even Vegan Overnight Hamin) is making it your own. If you need more dinner inspo, check Julienne Recipes, read the real stories on the about me page, or pick another cozy breakfast idea.
Try Polish Potato Soup once—maybe it becomes your new comfort ritual. Be bold, be messy (soup splatters are almost good luck), and always taste as you go. You’ve got this, and hey, your kitchen just got a little more legendary.
