Gordon Ramsay’s Roasted Tomato Soup Recipe

Let’s be real. Some days, you don’t want fancy. You want something that hugs your insides. Something that smells like Sunday mornings and tastes like “I give up on life, just feed me.”

That’s where this soup comes in.

Gordon Ramsay’s roasted tomato soup? Yeah, it sounds fancy. Chef-y. Like you need a white coat and a British accent to pull it off. But nah. It’s actually… chill.

It’s tomatoes doing what they do best — getting all caramelized and smoky, falling apart in the best way, turning into this rich, velvety thing that makes you go, “Wait… I made this?”

And me? I’m not a chef. I’m Kelsey. I once microwaved peanut butter by accident. But this soup? I’ve made it three times this month. Because it works. It feels like care.

So let’s talk about why this isn’t just another tomato soup recipe.

Health Benefits? Yeah, It’s Got Those Too

Look, I didn’t make this for health points. I made it because it was cold and I wanted comfort.

But turns out, it’s kinda good for you. Who knew?

Tomatoes are packed with lycopene — that’s a big word for “stuff that’s good for your heart and might help keep bad cells in check.” Roasting them actually boosts that lycopene. Wild, right?

The olive oil? Healthy fat. Helps your body soak up those good nutrients.

Garlic? Yeah, it’s not just for keeping vampires away. It’s got compounds that support your immune system. And onions? They’re full of antioxidants. Basically, they’re doing silent hero work in the background.

Basil isn’t just there for looks. It’s got anti-inflammatory stuff. And the balsamic vinegar? A little splash, but it helps balance blood sugar and adds tang without piling on sugar.

Even the cream — optional, remember — gives a bit of satiety. Makes you feel full. Not bloated. Just… satisfied.

So yeah. It’s cozy. It’s rich. But it’s not empty comfort. It’s the kind that sticks with you, in a good way.

Ingredients – And Why Each One Matters

This isn’t a “throw it all in” kind of soup. Each ingredient has a job. A purpose. A vibe.

Let’s break it down — no jargon, I promise. Just real talk.

• 2 pounds ripe tomatoes – Not mealy ones. Not sad grocery store winter tomatoes (we’ve all been there). Go for ones that smell like summer. They’re the base. The soul. When roasted, they turn sweet, deep, almost wine-like. Don’t skip the roasting. It changes everything.
• 1 red bell pepper – Adds natural sweetness and a little smokiness when charred. Also gives the soup that gorgeous red-orange glow. Makes it look expensive. (It’s not.)
• 1 medium yellow onion – Sweetness again. But also depth. When it roasts, it caramelize-slightly, giving that umami backbone. Like the quiet bass player in a band — you don’t always notice it, but the song falls apart without it.
• 4 garlic cloves, unpeeled – Roasting garlic whole makes it mellow. Creamy. Not sharp. Keeps it from screaming at you. Plus, peeling it after roasting? So easy. No sticky fingers.
• 4 tablespoons olive oil – 3 for roasting, 1 for sautéing. Good quality stuff, if you got it. It carries flavor. Makes everything richer without being heavy.
• 3 cups vegetable stock – Liquid backbone. Use a low-sodium one if you can. Gives body without oversalting. And hey, if you only have chicken stock? Use it. I won’t tell.
• 10 fresh basil leaves – Fresh. Not dried. Dried basil is like a sad memory of flavor. Fresh basil brings brightness. A little herbal lift. Like a breath of air in a room full of heavy vibes.
• 1 teaspoon sugar – Wait, sugar in soup? Yeah. Tomatoes can be acidic. This balances it. Just a touch. Not dessert-level. Just enough to say, “Hey, relax.”
• 1 teaspoon salt, ½ tsp black pepper – Obvious, but vital. Salt pulls all the flavors forward. Pepper? A little kick. Don’t skip seasoning as you go. Taste. Adjust. Be in charge.
• ¼ cup heavy cream (optional) – For when you want to feel fancy. Or sad. Or both. Makes it silky. Luxurious. But leave it out, and it’s still great. Still creamy from the blended veggies.
• 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar – The secret twist. Adds tang, a little sweetness, and a tiny bit of complexity. Like the plot twist in a movie you didn’t see coming.

How to Make Gordon Ramsay’s Roasted Tomato Soup Recipe

Alright. Let’s cook.

No rush. Put on music. Or don’t. Burn the first garlic clove? Happens. We keep going.

Step 1: Heat the oven to 400°F (200°C)

Get that oven going. Roasting is the whole point. Don’t try to skip it and boil the tomatoes. That’s like grilling a steak… in the microwave. Just wrong.

Step 2: Prep the veggies

Wash the tomatoes. Cut ‘em in half. Bell pepper? Quarter it, scoop out the seeds. Onion? Peel, cut into quarters. Garlic? Leave the skin on. Trust me.

Lay them all on a baking sheet. Cut side up for the tomatoes. Everything in one layer. Crowded? Use two sheets. We want roast, not steam.

Step 3: Oil and season

Drizzle with 3 tablespoons of olive oil. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Use your hands. Toss it a little. Get the oil everywhere.

This is where flavor starts. Not later. Now.

Step 4: Roast for 35–40 minutes

Pop it in the oven. Let it go until the edges are dark, the tomatoes are collapsed, the peppers are blistered. That char? That’s flavor. Don’t fear it. Love it.

Step 5: Cool slightly, then peel

Take it out. Let it sit five minutes. Then, peel the pepper (skin should slide off) and squeeze the garlic out of the skins. It’ll be soft. Like paste. That’s perfect.

Step 6: Sauté (kinda)

Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a big pot. Add all the roasted veggies — don’t forget the juices on the pan! That’s liquid gold. Stir it around for a minute. Let it warm through.

Step 7: Add liquid and herbs

Pour in the vegetable stock. Toss in the basil, sugar, balsamic vinegar. Stir. Smell that? That’s progress.

Step 8: Simmer 10 minutes

Bring it to a boil, then turn it down. Let it bubble gently for 10 minutes. Just enough to marry the flavors. Don’t walk away. Soup can burn. I’ve done it. It’s sad.

Step 9: Blend it smooth

Grab an immersion blender. Stick it in. Blend until silky. No chunks. If you don’t have one, carefully transfer to a blender in batches. Hot soup expands. Keep the lid slightly open, cover with a towel. Safety first.

Step 10: Taste and adjust

Back in the pot. Taste. Needs more salt? Add a pinch. More pepper? Go for it. More balsamic? Maybe. Don’t overdo it.

This is your soup now. Ramsay made the blueprint. You’re the one living in it.

Step 11: Cream (if you want)

Stir in the heavy cream if you’re feeling it. It’ll mellow the acidity and make it luxe. Stir gently. Heat through, but don’t boil.

Step 12: Serve

Pour into bowls. Drizzle a little olive oil on top. A fresh basil leaf. Maybe some cracked pepper.

And bread. Always bread. Crusty. Toasted. Dipping is mandatory.

Tips From Kelsey (aka the Non-Chef Who Keeps Making This)

• Use ripe, in-season tomatoes. Seriously. If they’re flavorless, the soup will be too. Summer tomatoes? Best. Canned San Marzanos in winter? Also fine. Just drain them, roast them anyway.
• Don’t rush the roast. Set a timer, but also look at it. You want dark edges, not ash. Char = flavor. Burn = “what happened.”
• Blend while hot. Easier. Smoother. Just be safe.
• No fresh basil? Try a teaspoon of dried. Not the same, but works. Or a tiny bit of oregano. Or nothing. It’ll still be good.
• Want it spicier? Add a pinch of red pepper flakes when you sauté.
• Vegetarian? This already is.
  Vegan? Skip the cream. Use coconut milk if you want creaminess. Works.

Leftovers and Storage

Soup gets better the next day. True story. Flavors settle. Deepen. Become friends.

Let it cool. Store in an airtight container.

• Fridge: 4–5 days. Reheat on the stove. Low and slow. Stir often.
• Freezer: Up to 3 months. Hold the cream if you’re freezing. Add it when you reheat.
• Reheating: Don’t boil. Simmer. Keeps texture. If it’s too thick, splash in a little stock or water.

And honestly? This soup is even better with grilled cheese. Or a grilled cheese sandwich. Whatever.

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So yeah. That’s it.

Gordon Ramsay’s roasted tomato soup. Sounds intimidating. Isn’t.

It’s fire-roasted veggies, blended into comfort. It’s simple, but it feels fancy. It’s the kind of meal that says, “I care,” even if you’re eating it alone on the couch.

And hey — if I can make it without setting anything on fire? You’ve got this.