Members Only: Roasted Mushroom Broth

This roasted mushroom broth is rich, grounding, and made for cozy afternoons or sniffly noses.

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• Home, in Every Sip of Mushroom Broth
• Ingredients
• How to Make this Earthy Roasted Mushroom Broth 
• Storage
• Top Tips
• Recipe

Rain always brings something with it. A bit of slowness. A little quiet. The kind that sneaks in under doors and fogs up windows. It wraps the day in gray, and everything softens. With the kids curled up with blankets on the couch, it was the kind of day that makes you want to roast something.

That's how this broth began. Out of need. From the kind of weather that lingers. Out of one of those sick weeks when we were all feeling off, noses running, energy low, and no one wanted anything but to be held or left alone.

I opened the fridge and saw mushrooms that were starting to look a little tired. I grabbed them. Tossed them on a sheet pan with carrots, celery, onions. Garlic too, because something in me always wants garlic when I'm trying to make things better. I was craving for depth.

Forty minutes later, the kitchen smelled like something was working. Something good. The mushrooms came out darkened and curling at the edges. Their smell was earthy, yes, but also sweet, almost caramel-like.

I dropped them into a pot with herbs and water, let everything simmer, and by the end, we had something I hadn't expected. A broth that tasted like rain-soaked forests and long conversations. Like a comfort that lingers.

Growing up, we didn't have this. On sick days, we had bouillon cubes. The kind you dissolve in hot water when no one has the energy to cook. Salty, fast, and forgettable. But this broth changed things for me. It gave me a different way to care.

And now, I keep it in the freezer. A jar or two in the back corner, ready to be pulled out when someone starts sniffling or when the house feels too quiet. It's my version of a care package. My favorite kind.

Home, in Every Sip of Mushroom Broth

I've made many mushroom broths before. A rich, savory shiitake broth, and even creamy pastas with oyster and maitake mushrooms. But this is the one I love most. The roasted edges of the mushrooms bring something that no simmered-only broth can give. A roundness. A kind of dark sweetness that doesn't announce itself but builds, quietly, sip after sip.

Some afternoons, I roast mushrooms just for this. I'll save a few pieces back, set them aside to layer over rice or fold into a sandwich for my husband. He likes their chew, says they remind him of food stalls back home in Bogotá.

I think that's part of what makes this mushroom broth special. It holds many homes. The sautéed lion's mane I make when I want something quick and deeply flavored. The oyster and maitake pasta that disappears fast on dinner nights. The mushroom bourekas I tuck into lunchboxes, warm or cold. 

Now, in our kitchen in Canada, this broth has quietly carved out its place. The kids don't eat much of it, but they cradle their small mugs in both hands and take slow sips, faces soft, noses still red from the weather.

Even if only a few spoonfuls make it past their lips, something shifts, the house feels calmer, the day a little slower. It's not about finishing the bowl. It's about the way the scent drifts through the room, the way the steam rises in little curls, the way something simple can feel like shelter.

There's no grand moment. Just the rhythm of roasting, simmering, straining. A quiet ritual passed from one rainy day to the next. And when the broth cools and gets poured into jars, it doesn't feel like an afterthought - it feels like something waiting. A small gesture that holds space, ready for the next pause, the next storm, the next need for something steady.

Ingredients

• Mixed Mushrooms - I use a mix of shiitake, cremini, oyster, and porcini. Each one brings something different! Shiitakes bring depth, creminis add richness, oysters lift with aroma, and porcini lend a subtle, smoky edge even when dried. If you can't find all four, aim for at least two - shiitake and cremini are a strong starting point.
• Onions - Roasting onions until their edges darken adds sweetness and structure to the broth. It's the kind of foundational flavor that makes everything else feel balanced. I usually grab yellow onions, but white or red work if that's what's in the bin.
• Carrots and Celery - This familiar pairing builds out the broth's base without taking over. Roasting them first brings out their natural sugars. My grandmother always added carrot and celery to soups, never measured, always by feel. I follow that instinct here.
• Soy Sauce - I stir this in at the end. It deepens the flavor and adds umami without overshadowing the mushrooms.
• Miso Paste -  This adds saltiness and a quiet fermentation funk that makes the broth taste like it's been simmering for hours longer than it has. I use white or yellow miso, depending on what's in the fridge. Red miso works too, but it makes the broth bolder and darker.

See the recipe card for full list and exact quantities.

How to Make this Earthy Roasted Mushroom Broth 

This roasted mushroom broth is earthy, rich, and deeply savory. It's perfect for rainy days, sick weeks, or whenever your soul needs something grounding. Roasting the vegetables first brings out their sweetness and complexity, making this broth more layered than anything simmered alone.

Preheat the Oven

Set your oven to 400°F (200°C). Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper for easy cleanup.

Prep the Vegetables

Roughly chop the mushrooms, onions, garlic (no need to peel), carrots, and celery. Toss everything with olive oil until evenly coated, then spread in a single layer on the baking sheets. Avoid overcrowding to encourage browning.

Roast for Depth

Roast the vegetables for 40 minutes, stirring halfway through to promote even caramelization. They should shrink slightly and darken around the edges. This is where the broth's depth begins.

Build the Broth Base

Transfer the roasted vegetables to a large stockpot. Add fresh thyme, bay leaves, and whole black peppercorns. These aromatics gently infuse the broth with herbal and peppery notes.

Deglaze the Pans

Don't skip this step! There's flavor stuck to the baking sheets. Pour a splash of wine (or hot water) onto each pan while still warm, scrape up the browned bits, and pour the liquid into the stockpot.

Simmer Low and Slow

Add water to the pot and bring it to a boil over medium-high heat. Once boiling, reduce the heat and let the broth simmer gently for about 1 hour. This allows all the roasted and herbal flavors to fully develop.

Strain the Broth

Carefully pour the broth through a fine-mesh strainer into another pot or large bowl, pressing on the solids to extract every last bit of liquid. Discard the spent vegetables.

Finish with Flavor

While the broth is still warm (but not boiling), whisk in soy sauce and miso paste until fully dissolved. This gives the broth extra umami and depth.

Taste and Adjust

Give the broth a final taste. Add a little more soy sauce or a pinch of salt if it needs it. Serve hot, or let cool and store for later use.

Storage

Once the roasted mushroom broth has cooled, I like to pour it into wide-mouth jars or freezer-safe containers. It will keep in the fridge for up to five days, and in the freezer for about three months. I always label mine with painter's tape and a date, even though we usually go through it much sooner, especially during cold season!

The flavor deepens after a day or two, like soups always seem to do. On quiet afternoons, I'll pull out a jar and warm it gently on the stove while the kids nap or play nearby. Sometimes I'll float a few reserved roasted mushrooms on top or stir in a spoonful of rice to turn it into something more filling.

Recipe