Around the World in 80 Broths

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Somewhere along the way, "bone broth" became a wellness product. A cup, a lid, a price tag, a promise. And it's fine — I drink it. But the longer I've cooked and the more we've traveled, the clearer one thing has become: bone broth isn't a health trend. It's the plainest version of something almost every culture on earth figured out centuries ago, and most of them did it with more flavor and more soul than the carton in your fridge.

Here's the part nobody seems to write down, so I will: you are not stuck with one recipe. The same pot that gives you a clean Western sipping broth is one turn of the wheel away from a bowl of Vietnamese phở, a Korean seolleongtang, or a rich, spiced Pakistani paya. One base. A world of options. And once you see why, you'll never buy the carton again.

The secret isn't the country. It's the cut.

Walk the broths of the world and they look wildly different — milky white in Seoul, star-anise-dark in Hanoi, turmeric-gold in Lahore. But underneath, they're the same trick. Every great collagen broth is built on the connective-tissue cuts: feet and trotters, tendon, oxtail, shank and shin, knuckle and joint bones. Simmer those low and slow and the collagen melts into gelatin. Chill the result and it sets like jelly — that wobble is the whole point. If your broth turns solid in the fridge, you did it right. If it stays watery, you used the wrong cuts or rushed it.

That's the liberating idea. The spices are just a costume. The collagen — the body, the richness, the mouth-coating silk — comes from the cut, and the cut is the same everywhere. Which means you don't need fifteen recipes. You need one good pot and a little curiosity.

A short tour around the pot

Vietnam — phở bò. Oxtail, tendon, brisket, leg bone. Charred onion and ginger, star anise, cinnamon, a clove or two, finished with fish sauce and a fistful of herbs. It's the broth that turned a generation of Westerners into collagen believers without ever using the word.

Korea — seolleongtang. Ox leg and knuckle bones simmered until the broth goes milky white. Almost nothing added — you salt it yourself at the table, drop in scallions and rice. It's the most honest broth on this list: no spices to hide behind, just bones and time.

Pakistan & India — paya. Trotters and hooves, ginger-garlic, turmeric, garam masala, chili. Rich enough to stand a spoon in. Traditionally a slow Sunday-morning affair — which is exactly the right way to think about all of this.

The Philippines — bulalo. Beef shank and a marrow bone, clear broth, corn and cabbage. Homey, unfussy, and the marrow is the reward at the end.

Mexico — birria consommé. Chuck and shank braised with guajillo and ancho chilies until the broth is deep red and glossy. The version people now dip tacos into is, underneath, a collagen broth.

Europe — pot-au-feu and brodo. France does it with restraint: shank, marrow, bay, thyme, leek. Italy keeps it even simpler with a parmesan rind. Proof that "elegant" and "collagen-rich" aren't opposites.

Japan — the outlier worth naming. Shabu-shabu is the exception that proves the rule. Its broth is a light kombu dashi — the collagen there comes from the marbled beef you swish through it, not the base. (If you want a collagen-heavy Japanese pot, that's tonkotsu — though that one's pork.)

There are more — Korean galbitang, Malaysian sup tulang, Caribbean oxtail soup, Chinese beef-and-tendon noodle soup. Different tables, same trick. (Nihari? Delicious, and collagen-rich from the shank — but it's a thick stew you eat with bread, not a broth, so it sits outside this list.)

The honest part, because this is Prime Chapter

You'll read that broth heals your joints, smooths your skin, and fixes your gut. Here's what's actually true. Broth genuinely gives you high-quality protein (eight to ten grams a cup), the amino acids glycine and proline, and a hit of minerals — real, useful nutrition. But the dramatic claims run ahead of the science. A 2019 analysis found the collagen in most broths sits below a therapeutic dose, and the content swings wildly from pot to pot. So no, a mug of broth is not a joint supplement in disguise.

What it is: a deeply satisfying, high-protein, low-carb food that keeps your blood sugar flat, warms you up, and tastes like someone cared. That's enough. Two caveats for our age group — keep an eye on sodium, especially in store-bought, and know that a few studies have flagged heavy metals in some bone broths, so vary your sources. If you've got kidney issues or high blood pressure, run it by your doctor first. (If you're here for the blood-sugar angle, it pairs with how I brought my A1C down.)

I'd make it for the flavor alone. The rest is a bonus.

One pot, five flavors

Here's how it actually works: build one deeply collagen-rich base from oxtail, shank, and a split trotter or knuckle — blanch, then simmer eight to twelve hours with a splash of vinegar, strain, and chill until it sets like jelly. Then that single pot becomes phở-style, seolleongtang-style, paya-style, a shabu base, or a Western sipping broth. Same afternoon of simmering, five completely different meals across the week. That's the argument for making broth yourself instead of buying it: not virtue, not wellness — range.

One more thing people ask about: the pale white layer on top when it's cold. That's the fat — beef tallow — that rose and hardened. The jelly underneath is the collagen. Scrape the cap for a leaner broth, or leave a little for richness.

Nobody handed us a rulebook that said broth is one thing. Turns out it never was.

A note on the science: the finding that broth's collagen often falls below a therapeutic dose, and the sodium and heavy-metal cautions, are drawn from registered-dietitian reviews and a 2019 clinical analysis. Further reading: Cleveland Clinic and AARP. This is food writing, not medical advice — check with your doctor about your own situation.