Question: Q: 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: The author believes that the plants she bought === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- are very versatile
- should only be frozen
- are just flowers

A: are very versatile


input: OPTIONS:
- The narrator
- The narrator's ex
- Bill and Ted
- not enough information Now, answer this question: I have 2 friends from college who completely did a 180 after they got married. We were party animals in college. Every day revolved around alcohol on some form or fashion. It literally was like the movie Animal House Now these 2 friends (let's call them Bill and Ted) were a little dorky compared to the rest of the other guys. We all played sports in high school and college and they were more like bookworms. Borderline alcoholics but bookworms. They were really awkward around girls but funny as hell around guys. Long story short. Both of them got involved into serious relationships after college and ended up marrying these girls. One girl was this born again Christian who vowed to cleanse Bill from his evil ways. Bill was so far removed from his friends (the wolfpack!) that he didn't even invite us to his wedding. It's been maybe 14-15 yrs now and I have no clue what he's doing. I think one of my friends did attend the wedding but it was only because they desperately needed a groomsmen. Ted married this girl who seemed cool at first but after marriage, he stopped coming to any and all get togethers. He always had an excuse. He ended up moving a few hrs away and eventually just stopped responding to us. He did show up to a mutual friend's wedding maybe 3 yrs ago. He has a baby now but he's alot different than how he used to be. Other than Bill and Ted, all my other friends got married and have pretty normal marriages. Meaning that family is priority but if you got some free time, go enjoy yourself. So we still get together a couple times a year (some more than others) and have a good time. Question: Who does the narrator say is a little dorky compared to most guys? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output: Bill and Ted


Problem:OPTIONS:
- Chocolate is a good dish
- Colomba is a good dish
- not enough information
- Panettone is a bad dish

Surely the best thing about colomba, the Easter equivalent to panettone, is the sugared, toasted almond topping that covers the whole thing and crumbles when you cut it, so you sort of have no choice but just to pick up the crusty sugary bits and eat those on their own. I’d always thought that colomba would make a very good baking project but was somewhat intimated by getting the right shape  — it’s vaguely in the shape of a dove, if you use your imagination — and texture — wonderfully soft, fluffy, sweet yeasted bread. I had attempted making panettone (this fig, walnut and date panettone) a few years ago with fair results — absolutely delicious results, actually, they were just not as fluffy and bouncy as expertly made ones from your favourite pastry shop where panettoni are hung upside-down to maintain their height and airiness. But when I came across the familiar brown and gold paper forms for making colomba at the supermarket, I thought I’m only ever going to get a chance to make this now! Like the panettone, I referred to my favourite baking book for Italian specialties, Carol Field’s The Italian Baker. Field recounts a bit of history behind the colomba, which I’m sure is little known to anyone these days. Colomba is a fixture at Easter tables all around Italy (and is often given as presents), even though it comes from the north of Italy, Pavia. It is one of those traditions that are now a given, where a slice of colomba, perhaps eaten with pieces of a cracked chocolate Easter egg and an espresso or a glass of dessert wine, is a welcome end to the meal (or indeed breakfast the next day). But the legend behind it is a medieval one and rather disturbing — maybe it was made up to encourage young girls to learn how to bake their own colomba (and make sure it was good) to get themselves out of sticky, undesirable situations. Question: The narrator believes that === The answer to the above question is
****
A:
Answer: Colomba is a good dish