instruction:
Write a question from the passage such that it identifies a character (a person or a thing) in the passage.
question:
When I was writing the manuscript for Florentine, I enlisted the help of an army of recipe testers — about 80 people from all over the world — to test every recipe thoroughly.
Only one came back to me consistently with problems.
From Minnesota to Melbourne, three testers wrote to me that their very first attempt at making Tuscan gnudi (ricotta and spinach balls that, rather than be encased in pasta like for ravioli, are simply dusted in flour) resulted in a pot of simmering water with "dissolved" gnudi. It reminded me of Pellegrino Artusi's potato gnocchi recipe in his famous cookbook from 1891, where he interrupts the recipe instructions to mention a signora who, upon attempting to stir the gnocchi cooking in the pot, finds they have disappeared – O dove'erano andati? "Where did they go?"
In the case of the gnocchi, there was too little flour used, according to Artusi. But in the case of the gnudi, I already had a hunch. I grilled all three testers on a number of various factors — was the water just simmering, not on a rolling boil (which can destroy delicate gnudi), did they drain the spinach very well, and equally the ricotta (one said she even drained it overnight)? Did they use "proper" ricotta? Aha.
"Proper" ricotta. The kind that was only made a day or so earlier, the leftovers of the cheese-making process, the real deal. The kind that you can see in a deli counter, standing on its own, that gets cut into a big wedge and weighed when you order it. Not the kind you buy at the supermarket, in a tub, that so often is grainy, more like the consistency of yogurt, has no structure, and is full of unnecessary gums or additives. All my recipe testers had used the second kind — to be fair, some were new to the idea of buying ricotta and in their neighbourhood only had access to this. In that case, it would have probably been better to make your own, or choose another recipe.
answer:
Who wrote a famous cookbook in 1891?


question:
When I was 7, I played this computer game where you were "babysitting" and you had to make sure everything was safe for the kids. One of the tasks was that you were supposed to make sure the windows were closed. Well, one game I forgot to close the windows, and these super creepy, red eyes popped in the window like they were looking in at the kids. That literally has made me paranoid about people looking through my windows ever since.
When I was 10, I watched an episode of CSI where some guy had a foot fetish and painted his victims toenails before murdering them. Now, something about red toenails just creep me out. I've never been able to shake that episode.
When I was 11, a girl in my class told me that she had played the game "Bloody Mary" in her bathroom and explained to me what it was. Ever since then, I literally cannot be in a dark bathroom, and if something happens like the power goes out or something, I instantly close my eyes and get the hell outta there as fast as I can.
When I was 15, my boyfriend wanted to take me to "see his grandpa's farm". I legit thought he was taking me to meet his grandpa. Well, turns out, he was just wanted to get me in the middle of nowhere so he could take advantage of me. After he had raped me, I felt like I was smaller than an ant. I felt absolutely trashed. I had always planned on being a virgin until I got married. But he took that from me. On the way back home, we drove over this bridge. I remember driving over this bridge thinking that I was totally worthless. Now, almost 10 years later, every time I drive over that bridge, I get horrible flashbacks and avoid it at all cost.
answer:
Whose farm was she brought to?


question:
Valentine's Day sucks. Which may sound odd coming from someone who ceaselessly praises love and sex, but it is true. I am not a fan.
My mother and father were married in a small Baptist Church on Valentine's Day in 1959. They are no longer together. They are still technically married but my father now lives in a residential care home for dementia patients and my mother lives alone. My father's disease makes him angry and aggressive leaving my mother with blurred and fading memories of his kindness. It is a sad day for all those whose partners are transformed into strangers by illnesses.
Some things aren't fair.
It is my step(ish) daughter's birthday on Valentine's Day (I am not married to my boyfriend so I can't claim to be a step-mum and there is no other term for it). The end of my boyfriend's marriage has put continents between him and his children. When he hangs up the phone after talking to his daughter, his eyes are dark with pain. It is a sad day for all those whose love is diluted by oceans.
Some things can't be changed.
I remember the last Valentine's Day I spent with my ex-husband. I was a couple of weeks away from moving out but I hadn't told him yet. I felt sick and scared and heartbroken. My husband and I passed the entire day without speaking. As I stood on the edge of the cliff summoning up the courage to jump, I felt entirely alone. It is a sad day for all those whose love has withered away.
Some things can't be fixed.
I want to believe that "love is all you need" because it feels as though it could almost be true, but then I remember, on days like this, that for as many hearts that sing, there are equally as many that struggle to beat.
answer:

Who was married in a Baptist church?


