The first time I tasted changua, a dairy-rich Colombian soup, my wife, Adri, a bogotana from the heart of changua country, grimaced as I swirled the golden yolk of a poached egg into some semi-melted cheese. She grimaced as I sucked the milky broth flavored with coriander and green onions with a piece of bread. She, I think, pretended to suppress a joke while I ate it and continued until I finished.
Changua, an Andean soup of Muisca origin, has a divided audience in its home departments of Cundinamarca and Boyacá. (An informal poll I did on the group chat I share with my Colombian in-laws showed a near-perfect split between changua lovers and haters, as did a poll I did on Instagram.)
I can understand why. The idea of warm onion milk with stale bread, cheese and semi-curdled eggs stirred in is, admittedly, not particularly appetizing.
But as a changua aficionado, it comforts me in the same way that other, more familiar, broth-soaked stale bread recipes born of frugality: French onion soup, Italian pappa al pomodoro, or even New England clam chowder with a handful of crackers. The difference is that changua is so quick and easy that it can be done on a hazy weekday morning. Add some stretchy cheese and a runny egg yolk, and it starts to sound pretty good, doesn’t it?
My knowledge of making changua, like most of my knowledge of Colombian recipes, begins with my Adri’s Aunt Gloria, who taught me how to make it in her small kitchen in Subachoque.
She started by combining equal parts milk and water (“never broth,” she scolded) with sliced Colombian long onions, chopped cilantro, and salt. Then she brought out some stale supermarket-style baguettes, which we preferred over almojábanas, a cornmeal and cheese bread. We tore them into pieces and dropped them into the jar.
Next, we cracked a few eggs into a bowl before adding them to the simmering pan, then divided the soup into warm bowls, one egg in each, and topped them with chunks of quesopera, a melt-in-your-mouth, pear-shaped cheese similar to full-fat mozzarella. with a low moisture content. It was a perfect breakfast, eaten with cups of frothy hot chocolate (which, Colombian style, also had a few cubes of cheese stirred in).
Since then, I’ve looked at recipes in books and on the internet, and found most of them pretty much identical. Some suggest putting the stale bread in the serving bowl and pouring the hot broth over it, others suggest serving bread alongside for dipping. Occasionally a recipe will suggest sauteing the onions before adding the milk, but I prefer the lighter flavor of just braised onions. Some recipes even recommend using broth. (I sometimes season mine with a stock cube instead of salt – don’t tell Gloria.) Potatoes are a common addition.
The only real difficulty is finding the right onions and cilantro. The long onions used in the Colombian Andes resemble a large green onion or small leek, but I made this soup with Japanese negi, scallions, farmer’s market ramps, and scallions. Although they produce different soups, every soup is delicious. Use what you have on hand.
In Colombia, cilantro is usually sold after the plant has sprung up (prepared to produce flowers and seeds) and a dense growth of feathery leaves — more intense in flavor than those found in U.S. supermarkets — emerges. If you grow your own cilantro and prune diligently to prevent bolting, try to leave it loose so you can harvest the more intense leaves. If not, don’t worry—plain coriander leaves work just fine here, too.
I was in Boyacá with my family last winter and had just finished shooting a video about changua for my YouTube channel. I jokingly asked Adri if she wanted something. Turns out she’s kind of open to the idea: She’d eat it when served, but never chooses to make it or order it. As the one who usually makes breakfast, I’ll test the veracity of her claim the next time one of my frequent changua cravings comes up.
