Lentil Soup with Lemon Yogurt (Comforting & Bright)

Lentil soup with lemon yogurt has been my go-to comfort food for years now, especially during those weird transition seasons when you’re not quite sure if you should be wearing a sweater or shorts. I’ve probably made this soup about fifty times, tweaking little things here and there until I landed on this version. The hearty, earthy lentils provide the base, but it’s that dollop of tangy lemon yogurt on top that transforms it from “just another lentil soup” into something that people actually ask me to make again. Which, if you know my cooking history, is kind of a miracle.

How This Soup Saved My Weeknight Dinner Routine

Let me just say this upfront—I used to be terrible at weeknight cooking. Like, embarrassingly bad. I’d either overcomplicate things and end up eating at 10 PM, or I’d give up and order takeout. Again. My wallet and my stomach were both pretty unhappy with me. Then about four years ago, during one particularly broke month when I couldn’t justify another delivery fee, I decided to try making a big batch of something that would last all week.

The first attempt at this lentil soup was… not great. I underseasoned it (afraid of salt back then, which is hilarious now), overcooked the lentils until they basically disintegrated, and didn’t add anything bright to cut through all that earthiness. It was edible but barely. I almost abandoned the whole concept until my neighbor (who’s actually a decent cook) suggested adding something acidic at the end. I had some yogurt about to expire and lemons from an ambitious baking project that never happened. So I mixed them together, plopped a spoonful on top of my sad soup, and—not exaggerating—it completely transformed it. From that messy beginning evolved this recipe, which has gotten me through busy weeks, broke months, and even impressed a few dinner guests who had very low expectations walking in.

Ingredients Lentil soup with lemon yogurt

The beauty of this soup is how the humble pantry ingredients work together to create something that tastes way more special than the sum of its parts. You probably have most of this stuff already hiding in your kitchen. If not, none of it is expensive or difficult to find—no running to three different specialty stores (who has time for that on a Tuesday?).

While there are a few non-negotiables in this recipe (please don’t skip the lemon yogurt—it’s literally in the name of the dish), I’ve included substitutions where possible because I know how annoying it is when a recipe calls for something specific and you’re already in your pajamas with no intention of going to the store again.

French Green Lentils (1 cup)

These little greenish-blue lentils are my preference because they hold their shape instead of dissolving into mush. Regular brown lentils work too but watch the cooking time—they break down faster. Red lentils? Only in an emergency, and expect more of a dal texture than a soup with distinct lentils. I buy mine in bulk when possible, but the boxed ones are totally fine too. No need to soak them, which is honestly why I make this so often—no planning required.

Mirepoix (1 onion, 2 carrots, 2 celery stalks)

This fancy French term just means the holy trinity of soup starters. Dice everything about the same size so it cooks evenly. If you hate celery (many do), just add another carrot. And yes, I’ve made this with a bag of frozen mirepoix when I was super lazy—it’s not quite as good but definitely passable. The onion should be yellow or white; red makes the soup look kind of muddy (learned that one the hard way).

Garlic (3-4 cloves)

Fresh is best, pre-minced in a jar works in a pinch. I usually add more than recipes call for because I’ve never once thought “wow, this has too much garlic.” Smash it with the side of your knife first—it makes it easier to peel and releases more flavor. If you’re one of those people with a garlic press, good for you. I lost mine in 2017 and have been too stubborn to buy another one.

Cumin & Coriander (1 tsp each, ground)

These two spices give the soup that warm, earthy backbone. If your spices have been sitting in the cabinet since Obama was president, maybe consider replacing them—they lose potency over time. I’ve forgotten the coriander before and while the soup was still good, it definitely missed that citrusy note that coriander brings. If you only have whole seeds, toast them in the dry pot first, then crush them—it’ll make your kitchen smell amazing.

Broth (6 cups)

Vegetable broth keeps this vegetarian, but chicken works great too if that’s what you have. I usually use those little bouillon cubes because I never remember to buy actual broth, plus they take up less pantry space. If you’re using cubes or concentrate, taste before adding more salt. Sometimes I’ll do half broth, half water if I’m trying to reduce the sodium but still want flavor. Homemade stock? Amazing but completely unnecessary for this everyday soup.

Greek Yogurt & Lemon (for the topping)

This is where the magic happens. Full-fat Greek yogurt is my go-to because it’s thick enough to dollop and doesn’t immediately melt into the soup. The tartness cuts through the earthy lentils perfectly. Mix it with fresh lemon zest and juice, plus a tiny bit of salt. If you’re dairy-free, a cashew cream with lemon works surprisingly well. And please use fresh lemons—the bottled juice just isn’t the same and this is where that bright flavor really matters.

Instructions Lentil soup with lemon yogurt

This soup is pretty straightforward, which is exactly why I make it so often. The active cooking time is maybe 15 minutes, then it just simmers away while you do something else (in my case, usually answering emails I’ve been avoiding or finally folding that laundry that’s been sitting in the basket for three days).

The key with this soup is layering the flavors—don’t just dump everything in at once. Take the extra couple of minutes to let the aromatics do their thing before adding the liquid. And for the love of all things delicious, don’t forget to taste and adjust the seasoning at the end. I’ve served bland soup too many times because I followed a recipe to the letter without tasting it first.

Sauté the mirepoix until it’s actually soft.

Heat a good glug of olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add your diced onion, carrots, and celery with a pinch of salt, then stir it around. This is going to take 8-10 minutes to get properly soft—one of my biggest mistakes used to be rushing this step. You want the onions translucent and maybe even starting to get some color. It’ll smell sweet when it’s ready. If things start sticking, add a splash of water and scrape up those flavorful bits instead of cranking up the heat and burning everything.

Add the garlic and spices to bloom the flavors.

Toss in your minced garlic along with the cumin and coriander (and a pinch of red pepper flakes if you want some heat). Stir constantly for about 30 seconds—you’ll know it’s ready when your kitchen smells incredible and the spices look toasty. Don’t let the garlic brown or it’ll get bitter. This quick step makes ALL the difference in developing deep flavor, so don’t skip it. If the pan seems dry, add another tiny splash of oil first.

Pour in the lentils and broth, then leave it alone (mostly).

Add your lentils and give everything a good stir so they get coated in all those aromatics. Pour in the broth, add a bay leaf if you have one kicking around, and bring the whole thing to a boil. Once it’s bubbling, turn it down to a gentle simmer and partially cover the pot. Now walk away for about 25-30 minutes. Seriously. Go do something else. Just check back once or twice to make sure it’s not boiling too hard or sticking to the bottom. French lentils usually take about 30 minutes to get tender while still holding their shape.

Make the lemon yogurt while you wait.

In a small bowl, mix about a cup of Greek yogurt with the zest of one lemon and about a tablespoon of juice. Add a tiny pinch of salt and stir it all together. Taste it—it should be noticeably tangy. If it’s not bright enough, add more lemon juice. This can sit in the fridge until the soup is ready. The longer it sits, the more the flavors meld, which is actually a good thing. Sometimes I make double and save the extra for topping roasted vegetables later in the week.

Finish the soup with acid and herbs.

Once the lentils are tender (taste one to check!), turn off the heat. Fish out the bay leaf if you used one. Now’s the time to brighten everything up—add a good squeeze of lemon juice directly to the pot and some chopped fresh herbs if you have them. Parsley, cilantro, or dill all work beautifully. This fresh hit at the end is crucial; the soup will taste flat without it. Taste again and add more salt if needed—I almost always need to add more than I initially think.

Tips & Variations Lentil soup with lemon yogurt

This soup actually gets better after a day in the fridge, making it perfect for meal prep. It’ll keep for about 4-5 days refrigerated. It also freezes beautifully—just leave out the herbs and add those fresh when reheating. The lemon yogurt should be made fresh though, don’t try to freeze that. For a heartier version, add a handful of chopped kale or spinach in the last few minutes of cooking. And if you want to make it meaty, brown some sausage before starting the vegetables—the rendered fat adds amazing flavor to the aromatics.

Final Thoughts Lentil soup with lemon yogurt

This lentil soup with lemon yogurt has saved me from both hunger and boredom more times than I can count. It’s humble enough for a random Tuesday night but interesting enough that I don’t feel like I’m punishing myself with bland “healthy food.” The bright dollop of lemon yogurt makes all the difference between a soup you eat because you should and one you actually look forward to.

If you try making this, I’d love to know how it turns out for you. Did you stick to the recipe or add your own twist? The beauty of a soup like this is how forgiving it is—it bends to fit your pantry and preferences. And honestly, sharing your cooking stories makes me feel less alone in my kitchen disasters (and occasional successes).