Stroganoff
A classic that my hubby and I bonded over having both eaten while growing up. It’s creamy, beefy, mushroomy goodness that’ll give you that warm and nostalgic feeling even if you didn’t have this growing up!
Stroganoff
A childhood favorite of mine and the hubby!
Ingredients
- 1 lb ground or thinly sliced beef
- 1/2 yellow onion, diced
- 4 cloves of garlic, minced
- 1/4 c butter
- 2 T flour
- 1 t salt
- 1/4 t pepper
- 8 oz container of whole baby bella mushrooms, sliced thin
- 10.5 oz can of cream of chicken coup
- 1 c sour cream
- 1 lb egg noodles
Instructions
- Brown meat in a pan over medium heat, then remove. Melt the butter in the same pan, and saute the onion. Once softened, add the minced garlic
- Stir in the flour, salt, pepper, and mushrooms. Cook 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Stir in the soup, heat to boil while stirring constantly
- Add the meat back to the sauce, reduce heat, simmer for 10 minutes
- Meanwhile, cook the egg noodles to al dente
- Stir the sour cream into the sauce, heat through, and stir in the egg noodles
Nutrition Facts
Calories
503Fat
21 gSat. Fat
10 gCarbs
64 gFiber
3 gNet carbs
61 gSugar
4 gProtein
14 gSodium
827 mgCholesterol
110 mgThe nuitrion information is based on estimates and is not definitive.
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There are some dishes that live in your memory like old friends—comforting, familiar, and always welcome. My mom’s stroganoff is one of those meals. It’s the kind of dish that, even decades later, takes me right back to the cozy warmth of our family kitchen, the clatter of wooden spoons against heavy-bottomed pans, and the scent of something rich and satisfying simmering away on the stove.
Mom’s stroganoff wasn’t fancy, but it didn’t need to be. It was a meal that brought us together, whether it was a chilly school night or one of those slow Sundays where dinner stretched into an evening of laughter and second helpings. It was creamy, deeply savory, and had a way of making everything feel just a little bit better.
Of course, as with any beloved childhood dish, I eventually wanted to make it my own. Not because Mom’s version wasn’t good enough—far from it—but because cooking is as much about evolution as it is about tradition. We all put our little marks on the recipes passed down to us, shaping them to our tastes, our kitchens, our memories. And so, while I keep the spirit of her stroganoff intact, I’ve made a couple of small adjustments along the way.
One of the biggest changes I made was swapping out the canned mushrooms for fresh ones. I still remember the way Mom would drain the brine from the can, tipping those soft, pre-sliced mushrooms into the pan. It worked, and it was quick, but I found that using fresh mushrooms added an earthier depth, a bit of texture that made each bite feel a little more robust. Sliced cremini or even a mix of wild mushrooms have become my go-to, sautéed until golden before the rest of the dish comes together.
Then there’s the garlic. Mom never used it, and I understand why. Her stroganoff had a purity to it—a straightforward, no-frills approach that let the creamy sauce and tender beef shine. But I’ve always been someone who thinks a little garlic makes everything better. Just a clove or two, minced finely and added early in the cooking process, lends a warmth that complements the dish rather than overpowering it. It’s a subtle tweak, but it’s one that I’ve come to love.
Everything else, though, stays just about the same. The beef is still seared until deeply browned, those crispy edges adding layers of flavor. The sauce still has that perfect tangy-silky balance, thanks to sour cream and a splash of Worcestershire sauce. The egg noodles are still the ideal, slurp-worthy base, catching every bit of the rich, savory sauce.
What I love most about this dish—whether it’s my version or Mom’s—is how it feels like home. It’s a meal that doesn’t ask for much: just a little time at the stove, a little patience as everything comes together, and a willingness to sit down and savor it with people you love. And isn’t that what comfort food is all about?
I think Mom would approve of my tweaks, though I like to imagine she’d playfully insist that hers is still better. Either way, the heart of the dish remains the same. It’s a reminder of where I come from, of the meals that shaped me, and of the simple joy that can be found in a bowl of something warm and familiar.
Maybe that’s the magic of family recipes—not that they stay exactly the same, but that they continue to nourish us in new ways, generation after generation.