So, Let Me Tell You How This Soup Happened…

I was once a diehard tomato soup traditionalist. You know, the whole grilled cheese and Campbell’s routine (it’s a vibe). But then, one rainy Thursday, I knocked over the gochujang jar into my tomato pan. Honestly, I was hangry and distracted, so I just sort of shrugged and gave it a go. Turns out, caramelized gochujang in tomato soup is like giving your usual winter jumper a spicy new look. Now, it’s the soup people ask me for at least once every fortnight—especially after they’ve had one of those days. I mean, who knew a little kitchen clumsiness could taste this good?

Why I Keep Coming Back to This

I make this when downtime is scarce and I want something that tastes way fancier than it looks (or, let’s be real… something that practically makes itself while I hide in the kitchen and decompress). My family goes wild for it—though my brother likes to triple the gochujang, which, whew, is not for the faint of heart. Sometimes I crave that savory pop but also want to trick myself into thinking I’m eating a tomato salad. Oh, and if you ever thought tomato soup was boring? This’ll change your mind. Side note: I used to burn the caramelization step, but I’ve finally figured out the sweet spot (pun, sort of, intended).

What You Need To Make It (and a Few Swaps)

2 tablespoons olive oil (or, in a pinch, butter—my college budget days)
1 large yellow onion, diced (red onions feel too sharp, but you do you)
4 garlic cloves, minced (I pretend it’s 3, always end up tossing in 5)
2 tablespoons gochujang paste (my aunt swears by the Sempio brand but honestly, the supermarket tube is just fine)
1 tablespoon brown sugar (or maple syrup if you want that earthy thing happening)
1 kg (about 2 lbs) ripe tomatoes, chopped (canned tomatoes work: I use San Marzano when I’m feeling posh, otherwise any will do)
2 cups vegetable stock (or chicken stock; water with a bouillon cube if I’m in a hurry… shh)
Salt and pepper, to taste (always more than I think)
1/2 cup heavy cream (sometimes a big splash of coconut milk—adds a little tropical dreaminess)
Optional: a handful of fresh basil leaves, torn (or parsley—whoever’s hanging out in the fridge really)

How I Actually Cook This (For Better Or Worse)

Grab a big-ish pot (I use my battered Dutch oven, but any largish saucepan does the job). Warm the olive oil on medium heat, then throw in the onion. You want a nice slow sizzle—none of this crank-the-heat-and-scorch-everything nonsense. Stir occasionally, and don’t walk too far away (I once took a call at this point and came back to onion jerky).
Toss in the garlic. Let it get fragrant but not burnt; about a minute, maybe two. If you get distracted, just take the pot off the heat for a sec—learned that one the hard way.
Spoon in the gochujang and brown sugar. Now, let them cook together, stirring, for about 3-4 minutes. This is where the magic happens—don’t rush it! If you see little bits sticking (but not burning), you’re golden. It’ll look kinda sticky and weird but trust the process. This is usually when I sneak a (tiny!) taste and always burn my tongue. Every. Time.
Dump in all the tomatoes. Give them a stir till everything’s coated in that spicy-savory gochujang love. Pour in the stock next, then season with a reckless hand—even if I always regret the first salty sip later.
Let it bubble along on a low simmer for about 25 minutes, lid half-on. The tomatoes should get so tender they’re basically melting into the soup. (If they’re still chunky at 25 min, just give it 5 more—no one’s counting.)
Carefully blend everything smooth—I usually ladle it into my blender in batches, but an immersion blender is quicker and you won’t end up wearing soup. Either way, don’t fill the blender to the brim (voice of hot splatter experience here).
Back in the pot, swirl in the cream. Watch it turn pretty and orangey. Taste, adjust salt, pepper, maybe more gochujang if you feel spicy. Toss in the basil. Or don’t. I mean, I rarely remember.

Notes That Only Came From Messing Up

Once I cooked the gochujang too hot and it got bitter—keep it gentle, like first date energy.
Honestly, canned tomatoes work just fine if you can’t get fresh (sometimes they even taste deeper in the end).
I used to blend the soup straight in the pot with my hand blender, but after redecorating my shirt more than once… now, I tilt the pot slightly first and keep it half-full for safety’s sake.
I think the leftovers deepen in flavor—if you can save any, give it a night in the fridge!

If You Want To Mix Things Up (And One Experiment to Avoid)

Swapped cream for oat milk once; tasted great. Cashew cream also worked but was a bit too rich for me.
Added roasted red peppers—superb idea. Brings out the sweetness.
Tried doubling the gochujang for maximum punch and, um, let’s just say my face glowed for the rest of the night. Go easy, mate.
Blended in a cooked potato for extra creaminess. Not bad, but it made things a little stodgy. Wouldn’t do it again, probably.

Kit I Use – But Don’t Panic If You’re Missing Something

Large soup pot or Dutch oven (or honestly, any big old pan with a lid)
Blender or immersion blender — Otherwise, mash by hand for chunky soup! (Or try a potato masher—might get more of a rustic vibe.)
Wooden spoon (plastic will do—it’s not that deep)
Sharpish knife and chopping board (I mean, butter knives in a pinch? Maybe?)

Storing This Soup (Though It Rarely Happens Here)

Just pop any leftovers into a lidded container and refrigerate for up to 3 days. It reheats perfectly on the stove or even in the microwave (my microwave has soup stains for days). The flavors deepen overnight—for real, I think it tastes even better the second day. Freezes, too, if you actually manage to save some. But let’s be honest: my house empties the pot by the next morning.

How I Like To Serve It (And How My People Do)

I usually ladle this into big mugs (less washing up); add a swirl of extra cream and, if I’ve remembered, some crispy croutons on top. My sister likes it with a gooey grilled cheese dunked right in—though my dad just crumbles up plain saltines (he says it’s old-school, I say it’s a shortcut, but hey, to each their own). And don’t tell anyone but, once I snuck in a handful of crushed wasabi peas to see what would happen. Not half bad, actually—though the kids were suspicious.

What I Wish I’d Known The First Few Times

I once tried to speed up caramelizing the gochujang on high heat—totally ruined the flavor. Patience is everything here; just let it gently bubble.
Always taste before blending in the cream. I’ve added it too early and kicked myself when it curdled because the soup was lava-hot. Just… don’t.
And actually, don’t fret if it separates a little—cream and tomatoes aren’t the best of friends, but a whisk and some optimism fix it right up.

Actual Real Questions I’ve Gotten (With My Real Answers)

Can I make this vegan? Oh, totally—just use olive oil instead of butter, and swap the cream for coconut or oat milk. Tastes rich, just a touch lighter.
Is gochujang super spicy? It gives more of a slow burn. If you’re wary, start small—add extra at the end, once you know you can handle the heat!
Can I use tomato puree? Yep! Use about 3 cups; the flavor will be a bit less layered, but it’s still a win. Add a pinch of smoked paprika, maybe?
How do I fix if it’s too thick? Just pour in a splash (or more, doesn’t matter) of extra stock or water until you hit your Goldilocks zone.
What if I can’t find gochujang? Miso paste plus a little sriracha sort of comes close. Not quite the same, but it scratches the itch.

And there you have it—if you stuck with me this long, you deserve a bowl. Or two. Now if only someone would invent a self-washing blender, this recipe would be pretty much perfect.

Caramelized Gochujang Tomato Soup