The Comforting Lebanese Lentil Soup Recipe I’ve Been Cooking for Decades

I moved to Southern California in 1998, and one of the first people to welcome me was Nadia Fakkreddine, a Lebanese mother of four with a knack for feeding everyone around her. She’s about my mother’s age—and just as gifted in the kitchen. For years, we lived one street apart, and whenever she made dishes she knew my family loved, she’d send a plate over—dishes like ejjeh (a fritter-like egg dish with herbs that’s pronounced egga in the Egyptian dialect and ejjeh in the Levant) or ma’amoul (crumbly semolina cookies stuffed with dates or nuts). When my daughter Keya was born, Nadia became her honorary grandmother and, over the years, a frequent deliverer of fattoush, the salad Keya came to love most.

One afternoon years ago, Keya and I stopped by Nadia’s just as she’d finished making her lentil and lemon soup (adas bi hamoud). Naturally, she offered us a taste, and I fell in love with its bright, tangy broth and tender brown lentils. 

Nadia is from Beirut, and she says that in the part of the city where she grew up, lemon, garlic, Swiss chard, cumin, and cilantro were essential to this lentil soup. She taught me how to make adas bi hamoud the day I first tasted it, and it remains one of my favorite soups to make and eat.

The process begins by sorting the lentils to remove any stray debris, then rinsing them to wash away dust and residue so the broth doesn’t turn cloudy. The lentils simmer in water until tender but still intact, while onions brown separately in olive oil, building a savory base that balances the soup’s lemony acidity.

After the onions are cooked, they’re set aside, and garlic and cilantro (or parsley) are quickly sautéed in the same skillet just until fragrant. The herbs should wilt but not brown—this keeps their flavor fresh and aromatic. 

Once the lentils are soft, they’re seasoned with earthy cumin, then combined with the browned onions and diced potatoes, which thicken the broth as they cook. Chopped Swiss chard is added toward the end so it cooks briefly and keeps its structure, its minerality adding another layer of flavor. 

The soup is finished with the sautéed garlic and herb mixture and a generous pour of lemon juice that brightens every spoonful. The result is tangy and aromatic, with creamy lentils, tender greens, and just enough potato to give it body. The slight sweetness of the onions and the gentle bite of the garlic round out the flavor.

In just under an hour, humble brown lentils are transformed into a soup that’s both comforting and lively. While it’s not traditional, I like to serve this soup with a dollop of labneh or sour cream. It’s a dish that feels just right on a crisp evening, served alongside salad and toasted bread or folded into a bigger meal for friends. It’s a soup that I’ll always make to honor my dear friend Nadia.