Social anxiety, unlikeable people, unlikeable cuts - a liver stew for the brave

I should have prepared this post last Sunday morning, when I was really rearing to do it. I actually wanted to blog, last Sunday morning, I wanted to sit down and write a post and skim through these images to choose the best ones and then write down this recipe. I thought I had my blogging mojo back, you see. And I should have done it there and then. But life got in the way, and I had house chores to tackle, last Sunday morning, so tackle them I did, and then it was already lunch time and there were other chores to crack right after lunch and when I finally found the time to sit here at my desk, I had the endings of a particularly troublesome chapter I'd been dragging for a week already in my mind, and I knew I would have to put that down before I messed it up or forgot all about it. So I never got to sit down to blog, last Sunday morning. Because by mid afternoon I didn't even want to blog anymore. I've read that most bloggers go through a phase like this, so I keep hoping it is indeed just that, a funk, a phase. I used to love it so much, now I find it... hard.

I like to prepare my posts in advance - I'm writing this on a Monday, but it'll only be live on Tuesday, actually - I like to, so to say, be prepared. I take a bit of my Mondays off to write a blog post, normally, and it usually happens after I return from my second school run. I was walking back home by myself and thinking about this particular post, and what to write in it. My head drew a blank, I had no idea what to say. It's like I'm talking - writing - to a wall, most of the time, so why even bother with penning down a text? Maybe I shouldn't bother with that anymore and simply stuff this place with pictures and a recipe. But the thing is, this is my place, in the end, whether I have one visit or one million visits, this is my place and it should reflect me. I'm verbose, I'm a writer first and foremost, my posts always have writing. Long winded, yes, stuffy and annoying, probably, but that's who I am, and this, this is part of who I am. I should know by now I'm not everyone's cup of tea, barely anyone's at all - some people say I'm too blunt and honest, others say I'm not honest at all. I'm not even an aquired taste, as most people who don't like me at first sight, never come to like me at all. They might think for a second there that yeah, I'm ok, but then I'll say or do something that will change their minds back. It's just how I roll.

In the end, I think that my writings here on this blog, much like me are not easily likeable. I was never one of those people you spent five seconds with and thought immediately wow, what an amazing person, I really like her - much on the contrary! Most people who spend five seconds with me come out detesting the f... out of me. I come across as arrogant, as haughty, as uptight and unpleasant. Unlikeable, in the end. Nasty. I might or might not be all that, but the fact is, I suffer from social anxiety. I hate the idea of meeting new people. I get anxious. I even get anxious at the thought of meeting up with people I've known all my life. The idea of picking up the phone to talk to my own sister makes me break out in a sweat, and hey, she's my kid sister. So whenever I am in a social situation, my smile will always look fake, strained. Because I will be in severe pain, trust me. I will be scared shitless and wishing myself away. And after I leave, I'll be plagued by thoughts of why did I say this and that, why didn't I do this and that, did I come across as this or that, I should have been quieter, I should have talked more. It's horrid. It makes me feel horrid. So I avoid all forms of social contact. And come across as rather unlikable, rather nasty. Like the main ingredient on this dish.

This here is liver. I like liver. I eat liver, and I delight myself in it. I have said plenty of times, I love meat, I have tried going without meat and it does not work for me. My choices are well informed and well thought of, I am an adult who happens to have a bit of a brain and sense of wisdom about her, despite what the world at large might think, so I do know what I do with my life and my personal stain in this planet we call home. I am well aware of all that. So I will eat my meat and drink my milk and gobble on my cheese - and lately I have been craving baked cheeses like a mad woman! - and I will even have game. Yes, the horrid person that I am, I love to eat game. There, the world can hate me all it wants - insert a smile here, I'm being ironic. Or maybe not, guess you'll never know! So I do eat liver, and I remember liver steaks from when I was a child, dressed in salt and pepper and bay leaves and a lot of garlic. I still love to eat liver like that, but I am also a huge fan of a liver stew. One that goes into a medium temp oven for a bit of a while, and warms up the kitchen. Like this one.

So in the off chance there's another liver lover out there like me, here's the recipe - and I swear I'll be bringing you another pretty soon!

  • 250 to 300 gr of liver, chopped into pieces
  • 3 large carrots, sliced
  • one large onion, sliced
  • half a leek, sliced
  • two large cloves of garlic
  • 1 glass of red wine
  • 3 cups of homemade stock
  • allspice, freshly grounded
  • salt and pepper
  • drizzle of Worcestershire sauce
  • 2 small bay leaves
  • olive oil
On a large pan that is oven appropriate, heat up a glug of olive oil. Cook the onion, the leek, the carots and the garlic in it until tender, in a low heat. Add the meat, turn up the heat and let it get some colour. Deglaze the pan with the red wine and allow it to simmer for a bit, so you get rid of the alcohol. Now add the bay leaves and the Worcesthire sauce, stir. Pour in the stock, season with the allspice, the salt and the pepper and let it come to a boil. Turn down the heat and transfer to a pre heated oven at 170. Let it cook for 30 to 45 minutes. Serve with some nice homemade cornbread and some vegetables - I opted for runner beans and peas!


  1. Sofro do mesmo mal. Um jantar em casa da minha sogra com a família do meu cunhado deixa-me nervosa e ansiosa durante dias.
    Felizmente com o meu horário tenho muitas vezes desculpa para evitar estes encontros. Há dias em que não atendo sequer o telefone a não ser que seja o viking.
    Mas acho que até escondo bem esta condição, no restaurante acham-me mt simpática e social. Estou doze horas num palco. Distraio-me por vezes, saio da personagem, deixo de sorrir ou de ser jovial, e é o suficiente para me perguntarem se estou bem, se aconteceu alguma coisa. Uma vez a directora do hotel chamou-me para me perguntar se eu ainda gostava do meu trabalho.
    Nao cultivo ser assim, mas deixei de me importar, parecer feliz e ser simpática faz parte do meu trabalho, fora disso, aceitei que nunca vou dar gargalhadas, nem gostar de comédias.... e não há mal nenhum nisso.

    1. eu acho que já nem em situações profissionais consigo fingir lol, mas como já não trabalho há tts anos, n sei. Foi uma das razões pq deixei, já n aguentava a interacção, a obrigatoriedade de ser sorridente, as boquinhas, as constantes criticas p n estar sempre de sorriso alardeado, por n criar amizades com os colegas, p sair do trabalho e desligar daquilo. Nunca fui pessoa p viver pa o trabalho, nunca fui daquela corrente muito USA de viver p a empresa, p o local de trabalho, o trabalho era o trabalho durante aquelas horas e dava o meu melhor em termos profissionais e de competência, saía dali e era a minha vida privada e que em nada se cruzava c a profissional, mas isso n resultava nos trabalhos q tive. Enfim, depois por ter nariz arrebitado pareço sempre uma arrogante c a mania q é superior, mas o pior de tudo p mim é o ser chamada - pelas costas! - de falsa, o ser acusada e vista como falsa e interesseira pq apesar de toda a minha social awkwardness, sou extremamente efusiva nos elogios q teço e no apoio q dou aos outros, aos seus talentos, sonhos, projectos, trabalhos, obras. Como o faço, sou graxista e falsa, e isso dói p caramba. Quem me dera a mim ter tido ao longo da vida pessoas q me dessem um incentivozinho, uma palavra de apreciação pelas coisas q faço, uma frase de apoio aos meus projectos e sonhos malucos. Mais gente houvesse assim mais felizes as pessoas eram, e mais dispostas a apostarem em si mesmas e arriscarem por si mesmas. Mas não, n se pode ser assim. Parece mal.


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