input: OPTIONS:
- tried more dishes
- learned more recipes
- kept cooking
- not enough information Now, answer this question: I had seen it before, those fuzzy, furry leaves and stalks, with the pretty, star-pointed purple flowers, but up until that moment that I saw them sitting in a basket at the market stalls, I admit I had never taken notice of it as a food. It grow along cracks in stone walls and along the roadside near my home in Settignano, which is blooming with spring goodness right now: robinia (black locust) trees, wild garlic (three-cornered leek) and even elderflowers are already bursting. I asked the vendor just to double check, "Is this borage?" "Si," Came the answer, "Borragine." He confirmed. "I've had it in ravioli," I started to say, "Brava!" He said, as if we were about to start a guessing game on what could be done with it. Actually, there's a lot that can be done with it. If you can use it as a ravioli filling with ricotta, then you can imagine it taking the place of spinach in gnudi, too, but also soups or frittata or stirred through polenta. I learned that the flowers are just as delicious, if not more interesting, for their delicate cucumber-like flavour people told me of their use in salads or cocktails like Pimms, and someone even mentioned she freezes them in ice cubes, what a pretty idea for those first warm nights when you can dine al fresco, homemade cocktail in hand. Then there's risotto and of course the fritters, much like these ones. Or you can simply deep fry the clusters of buds that haven't yet burst open like these deep-fried robinia flowers. borage and ricotta crepes The problem, I was thinking, as I took home my bag of borage, is that I can't decide what to make. There's simply too much choice. I consulted two of my favourite books that also happen to be cookbooks. Patience Gray's Honey from a Weed and Luigi Ballerini's A Feast of Weeds. Both had wonderful ideas for borage (and indeed many other edible, foraged plants). Question: after the passage, the writer probably === The answer to the above question is
A:
output: kept cooking

It was a hot summer afternoon; I think I was 12. It was too hot too cook in the kitchen, so Mom decided we'd grill hot dogs & stuff outside. But we needed some things so Dad was elected to go to the grocery store. This turned out to be a big production; Dad was trying remember what all was needed without writing a list, and Mom kept adding things even as he was trying to leave. Finally, he got in the car and drove off. Mom & I had just turned around and sat down at our picnic table when all of sudden here was Dad pulling back into the driveway. He'd apparently just driven around the block & came right back. Mom & I looked at each other and smirked- she was thinking the same thing I was: "what'd he forget this time?" But then Dad got out of the car.. and on his face was the look. In my young life, I'd never seen that look before, but it chilled me to the core and I just knew something bad was coming. Mom knew it too; the smirk quickly left her face as Dad came over and said.. "Mom.. I hope I heard this wrong.. but on the radio they said a woman drowned at the lake.. I hope I'm wrong, I barely caught the name, but I think they said it was your sister.." The cookout was forgotten; we went inside & started making phone calls, and unfortunately it was indeed my aunt. She & her family had gone swimming to cool off; apparently she'd gotten a cramp or something and gone under while nobody was looking, and by the time she was missed it was too late. To this day, my Mom is miffed at some family members that we had to find out that way (she was pretty close to this sister so she feels someone should've called before it got on the news) but as for me, I will never forget that look on my Dad's face. Question: At the end of the story, the family is === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- Sad
- Indifferent
- Happy
- not enough information

Answer: Sad

I had this one guy, who enjoyed being a part time bully and part time neutral to me. To say the least he was annoying. He'd take the liberty to hide my backpack, borrow my books without consent, doodle scandalous stuff on my notebooks with a pen and yada yada. So one day, I was showing this cool trick I learned on an anatomy program on the TV to a couple of classmates who used to sit around me. The thing was that you can't flex your ring finger upwards if you put your middle finger under the palm (try that) We were all kids, and soon everyone in the class started staring at us weirdos looking laughing at out hands. The bully noticed it too, and came near to inquire about this hand stuff. I described the trick and he was impressed. And then, I saw our teacher walking up the corridor, just a couple paces behind the class door. So, I asked him (the bully) if he wanted to see another trick and to that he nodded a big yes. Cool, What I did was, that I grabbed his right arm by the thumb and put it on my throat right above the larynx. Then I quickly shifted my grip to his wrist. He without batting an eye, asked what I was doing, but then I started beating the desk with my other hand and made squeaking noises while pushing his hand against my throat harder with every turning head. And voila! Every one in the class (including the teacher) thought he was smothering me. After a few ifs and buts between him and the teacher, he was summoned at the principal's chambers, from where, later he was sent home, where presumably judging from the look on his face for the next few days, he was beat to crap by his folks. And after that, never was I ever bothered by anyone in the school.(^^) Question: How does the bully feel when confronted by the teacher? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- The bully felt misunderstood
- The bully felt angry
- The bully felt scared
- not enough information

Answer:
The bully felt misunderstood