The sudden burst of spring produce in the market after a long, monotonous winter of cavolo nero and bright oranges is one of the things that constantly reminds me why I love living and eating in Italy. A wander through the market like any other becomes, in spring time, a new experience. I feel like a fresh arrival, like it's my first time walking through my local market. There are long, twisty fava bean pods, waiting to be podded and munched on with bitey pecorino cheese to tame the bitterness of the raw beans. Thin, long-stemmed asparagus. A lovely array of greens, including radishes with leaves so happy that they become the main ingredient, fluffy-fronded fresh herbs and fresh garlic. Artichokes of many different kinds, but especially the pointed purple ones that are either local, from Tuscany's Maremma, or sometimes from Puglia or Sicily. Rarely the rounded globe artichokes you find spilling out of crates in Rome, or the tiny, delicate Venetian ones, the so-called castraure (though they often aren't the real deal, how you can tell is by the price) that you can find in the shadow of the Rialto. And then there are thick bunches of agretti (salsola soda), looking more like mermaid's hair than a monk's beard, their English namesake. A few years ago, this wasn't such a common sight at the market in Florence. It still isn't, in that you won't get them by the crateful like you do fava beans and artichokes, though they're not particularly difficult to find now. They're just one of those special things that don't last long. Blink and you'll miss them, or come late to the market and they could easily be sold out. It's worth getting up and out of the house a little earlier for these (a note to myself, of course). If you've never tasted agretti before, it's worth seeking out if you're in the right place at the right time and find a bunch or see it on a menu. Frances Mayes likens it to spinach, but notes that it is so much more, "While agretti has the mineral sharpness of spinach, it tastes livelier, full of the energy... What is probably true of the author? A. They are a native of Italy. B. They don't like to wake up early. C. They like to cook. D. not enough information
C

Nothing I can think of. I've unwittingly embarrassed my daughter by stopping by my daughter's place too often to drop things off, I guess. I guess I embarrassed my daughter when she was living with her boyfriend by stopping by with healthy food and favorites groceries and other things I thought she needed and might like. The boyfriend always told me the groceries were a help. My daughter complained she already had too many clothes and if I tried to surprise her with something new. I think my husband and I embarrass our daughter now practically no matter what we do just because we're parents and maybe because we're older in our 60's and too happy to see her and too eager to please and we inadvertently treat our daughter like she is still a kid although she will be 22. I've never had a deliberate favorite thing to do except maybe by accident when I used to share too many photos of the cats when I used to be on FB? Parents can't help but embarrass their children beyond a certain age maybe? I can picture if we had an in the ground pool and my husband and I were continually doing silly moves and cannon ball jumping in I think or even simply lazing around in ridiculous color and style too teeny bathing suits for our age that too would embarrass my daughter. When push comes to shove parents like myself don't have to be too inventive or think much to come up with things they might do that embarrass their kids. My daughter told me she could not stand to go to the movies with me because I used to cry during movies. She never forgets one time I got emotional during a movie "Spirit" my husband and I took her to when she was little. I tried to hide this but my husband blurted out "You aren't crying, are you" like it was the dumbest thing to do and for the entire movie going audience to hear. Sheesh! About how long has the narrator been a parent? A. not enough information B. Two decades. C. Five decades. D. Four decades.
B

(Question)
It was a good feast. Celenda's manservant had purchased two of the biggest and strongest oxen in Fena Kef and they now roasted over the hall's two huge braziers. The smell filled Celenda's nostrils. She closed her eyes and laid back on her silk divan, enjoying the sights and sounds. Her finger fiddled with a torn seam on the divan's armrest and her pleasure faded. She would have flogged her seamstress for allowing such a thing but the woman had fled a year ago. She could barely afford clothing acceptable to a woman of her position, though few could say for certain what that position was, so she simply wore less clothes overall. She raised her arms behind her back and let the warmth of the braziers flow over her body. Though the number shrank, many still enjoyed Celenda's frequent celebrations. Some laughed and shouted on one side, some coupled in the dark shadows and behind silk curtains. Most feasted and drank and everyone partook in the red lotus. Celenda beckoned a thin slave boy, one of her last few, and he came holding a bronze bowl. Dried red leaves covered the bottom of the bowl. 'Why is this bowl not full?' she shouted at the boy. He cringed but she could tell he was not really frightened. She could not afford to injure or kill him and everyone knew it. She slapped him, but not hard. If she hit too hard she would find herself with one less slave along with her diminishing supply of the red leaf. Instantly the thoughts of the crumbling villa, the torn furniture, and the diminishing coffers fled from her mind. Euphoria flowed in. She felt it in her fingers and toes. What was being celebrated? A. A saint's day. B. A holiday. C. not enough information D. A birthday.
(Answer)
C