5 Comfort Soups Worldwide with Indian Versions

5 Comfort Soups Worldwide with Indian Versions I Crave On Rainy Nights#

Soup is my love language. It started with my mom’s rasam, honestly, when I was a sneezy kid and she would shove a steaming steel tumbler into my hands. Now I chase bowls everywhere I go, from chaotic markets to very-too-fancy hotel lobbys. The funny thing is, the older I get, the more I think every country’s most comforting soup has a cousin in India. Not identical twins, more like that cousin who shows up late to the wedding with a louder outfit and extra green chilies. So here’s my take on five global hug-in-a-bowl classics and the desi versions that live rent-free in my brain.¶

1) Vietnam’s Pho and India’s Paya Soup#

The first time I slurped pho properly was in Hanoi, at a street corner where the plastic stools were tiny and my appetite was definitely not. That broth. Like, you sip and then the world kinda slows down. Star anise whispering, charred onion, beef bones simmered forever. Cut to Hyderabad, 2 am, a paya stall bubbling goat-trotter soup in a massive dekchi, the aroma of pepper and ginger punching through the night. Different spices, same bone-deep comfort. 2025 menus keep leaning into this slow-broth obsession again, I swear. Collagen-y stocks, long simmers, pressure cooker hacks. I even saw jarred bone broth concentrates on Indian grocery apps lately. We’ve come a long way from cube bouillon.¶

• Home hack: char onions and ginger on an open flame till they’re sooty. Drop into your stock. Magic.
• Paya shortcut: pressure cook with black pepper, ginger, a little turmeric, then finish with coriander stems and a squeeze of lime.
• Pho-ish vibes without beef: mushroom stems, a few whole spices, soy, and, oddly, a scrap of apple for sweetness.

2) Japan’s Ramen and Ladakhi Thukpa#

I love ramen like it’s a personality trait. Thick tonkotsu, clean shio, miso with a slab of butter melting into the swirl. But you know what feels like our own mountain-side sibling to it? Thukpa, the noodle soup from Ladakh and across the Himalayan belt, which I first had in Majnu ka Tila on a cold Delhi evening when my hands were too numb to text. Comfort is steam on your face. 2025 is a big noodle year in Indian cities too, with small ramen counters popping up in mall food courts and also tiny alleys that don’t look like much. Millet ramen is a thing now, like actually on menus, riding that post-International Year of Millets wave. It’s an earthy chew that stands up to broth without turning mushy, and I’m weirdly into it.¶

• If you’re veg, build umami: shiitake soaked water, kombu if you can find it, and roasted tomato scraps. A teaspoon of miso goes a long way.
• Thukpa at home is forgiving. Toss in bok choy or cabbage, a few torn spinach leaves, and finish with that essential hit of chilli oil. I do a chilli crisp with sesame seeds and it’s never not good.
• Trend watch this year: smaller bowls, deeper flavors, more toppings. I keep seeing soft-boiled eggs marinated in black tea and soy show up at pop-ups in Bengaluru and Mumbai. Looks dramatic. Tastes like comfort in 3D.

3) Thailand’s Tom Yum and South Indian Rasam#

Tom yum is that friend who’s always extra. Sour, spicy, bright, so alive with lemongrass and kaffir lime that you can smell it before you see it. And rasam, well, rasam is my rainy Thursday medicine. Tamarind tang, black pepper, cumin, a little tomato, loads of curry leaves. If tom yum is a neon sign, rasam is a warm lamp. Both hit that hot-sour-salty-slightly sweet quadrad that your body just wants. I’ve been seeing a lot of chefs cross-pollinate lately, like lemongrass rasam on tasting menus, or rasam cappuccino with frothy coconut milk on top. 2025 menus are playful, and honestly, I’m here for the chaos.¶

• Best rasam tip I ever got: roast your tomatoes and garlic before you pressure cook. It adds a tiny char note that tastes restaurant-y.
• Tom yum in a hurry: water, smashed lemongrass, galangal if you have, lime leaves, a spoon of nam prik pao, mushrooms, fish sauce, lime. Done. Don’t overthink it.
• 2025 flavor crush: fermented green chilli brine. A spoon into rasam gives wild depth. I didn’t believe it till I tried.

4) French Onion Soup and Pyaaz ka Shorba#

Me and him went to a tiny bistro last month where the French onion soup came in a bowl the size of my face, crowned with Gruyère that formed this gooey lid. I nearly cried breaking into it, not even exaggerating. Onion sweetness, winey warmth, toasted bread soaking up everything. And then there’s pyaaz ka shorba, the desi cousin, silkier and a bit spicier, with pepper and maybe a whisper of cinnamon. I once cooked it in Goa during a sticky monsoon, caramelizing onions low and slow till they were floppy and dark gold, then deglazing with a splash of white wine and finishing with a pinch of jaggery because I’m that person who can’t leave well enough alone. 2025 bakeries doing brasserie-style menus are serving cheese toasts with soup a lot, sometimes even with local Kalimpong cheese, which melts like a dream.¶

• Caramelize onions longer than you think. Like 45 minutes. Don’t rush. The sweetness will pay rent.
• Desi hack: ghee for the onions, then a quick tadka of cumin and black pepper poured over at the end. Not classic, very yum.

5) Italy’s Minestrone and Millet Dal-Shorba#

Minestrone is that big-hearted friend who invites all the vegetables to the party. Beans, pasta, zucchini, tomato, herbs. A wholesome mess. The Indian version living in my kitchen lately is a millet dal-shorba, very 2025, because millets went from being a trend to just… pantry normal. I rinse little foxtail millet, pressure cook it with moong dal, carrots, tomatoes, celery if I have, a bay leaf, and then finish with a coriander-chilli ghee tadka. Sometimes I add a handful of spinach or methi for a slightly bitter counterpoint. It eats like minestrone’s cousin, hearty but light, something you could have for lunch and not need a nap afterwards.¶

• Swap macaroni in minestrone for cooked bajra pearls. The bite is addictive and keeps better for tiffin the next day.
• 2025 cafe menus keep bragging about protein-per-bowl counts. Beans plus millets plus dal? You’re basically trending at home.

CopySoup is a hug that doesn’t ask any questions. It just sits with you till the storm passes.

Where I’ve slurped lately#

I’m not gonna pretend I remember every name, because I don’t, but a few standouts: a new coastal bar in Bandra doing a kokum-rasam shot as an amuse that made me giggle it was so tangy-tiny-perfect. A ramen window in Indiranagar serving a black pepper chicken broth that tastes suspiciously like it spent time flirting with South Indian pepper rasam. And a hill-station homestay where the auntie made thukpa with cabbage from her garden and a chilli oil so fragrant I almost stole the jar. The 2025 energy is tiny counters, shorter menus, broth-first thinking. Less fuss, more slurp.¶

Tiny tools and big cheats I rely on#

Weirdly, kitchen gadgets got smarter without getting annoying this year. My portable induction hob is a beast for simmer control, and the new cordless immersion blender I picked up is living on my counter because soup nights are like, every week now. Spice grinders with timer presets help me not burn my garam masala. Also seeing dehydrated broth pucks on gourmet sites, which are like bouillon got a glow-up. I don’t rely on them, but a half puck in a veggie stock when I’m tired? Not gonna lie, it slaps. And yes, I still hoard parmesan rinds in the freezer to drop into minestrone or even dal-shorba when no one’s watching. Don’t @ me.¶

• Pantry list for soup people: curry leaves, whole black pepper, star anise, dried shiitake, chilli crisp, jaggery, tamarind, millet of choice.
• Fresh bits that change everything: coriander stems, spring onion greens, lime leaves if you can locate them, and a lemon that actually smells like a lemon.
• Texture toppers: toasted sesame, fried garlic, crushed papad for crunch on rasam, and buttered bread crumbs for onion shorba. No rules. Just yum.

What I’d cook for you if you came over tonight#

Depends. If it’s raining, rasam with steamed rice and a cucumber kosambari. If you’re nursing a heartbreak, paya soup with lemon and lots of pepper, and I’ll fight anyone who says pepper isn’t medicinal. If you’re in a ramen mood, I can do a thukpa-ish bowl with homemade chilli oil and a broomful of greens. Or we lean Italian-Indian and simmer a tomatoey minestrone while stirring in a scoop of cooked bajra, then eat on the floor while the fan goes woosh-woosh because the AC’s being dramatic again. Comfort is messy. Comfort is hot. Comfort is a bowl you don’t wanna share but you kinda do.¶

Final slurp#

If there’s a thesis here, it’s that most comfort soups are cousins. Different passports, same heartbeat. Find the sour-spicy note you love, the soft vegetable, the chewy carb, the little fat caps of joy, and build your own bowl. And if you stumble on a new spot doing something wild with broth this year, DM me because I honestly can’t keep up and also I don’t wanna miss out. I’ll be sharing more soup obsessions and kitchen mistakes over on AllBlogs.in, so come say hi and tell me what you’re cooking, okay?¶