The Perils of Pizza Making - Test 2

C2 Proficiency · Gapped Text · Proficiency Testbuilder, 4th Edition, Mark Harrison, Macmillan

You are going to read a newspaper article. Seven paragraphs have been removed from the article. Choose from the paragraphs A–H the one which fits each gap (1–7). There is one extra paragraph which you do not need to use.

The Perils of Pizza Making

It looks easy but it really isn't, says Chandos Elletson, whose efforts turned out far from perfect.

To put those things right, I did as Francesco had done and slapped it with the palm of my hand. This made me feel better and I slapped it again. Next, I did some twirling and the flour showered everywhere.

Instead, Francesco quickly made one of his own to act as a comparison. When they were done and brought from the oven, we had a tasting. The result was astonishing. Mine was tough and crunchy in places, not bad in others. His was perfectly crispy and soft everywhere.

Having done that, it was time to get it on to the paddle, which felt like a pole vault. With one determined shove, the pizza went on halfway. Another shove forward got it on completely but put an ugly buckle in it. I turned and headed for the oven.

Francesco made it look easy. He showed me what to do again and I tried to take it in. The chilled dough balls, pre-weighed at 170g, were all ready in a special fridge below the work counter. The dough was sticky and Francesco worked fast. First it was dropped into a large pile of flour and then it was mixed with a small handful of polenta.

Clearly, the stage was all mine. I had been told to concentrate on the edges using the flat edge of my hand under my little finger. I started to work the dough and tried to stretch it. It did begin to take shape, but as soon as I let it go it just went back again and didn't get any bigger. I felt more and more eyes on me. Then the worst thing happened.

That was because it wasn't so much a circle as an early map of the world. Silently, Francesco reached for his pizza paddle, scooped it up and threw it disdainfully into the red-hot stone oven, where it burnt rapidly on top of a funeral pyre of burning wood. I made up my mind that my future efforts would be good enough to be spared the death sentence.

I was baffled and embarrassed as it did so, but I thought I was onto something. On my next attempt, I quickly got to the shaping stage with half the pizza hanging over the edge. This was where I had gone wrong. Using only the bottom edge of my hands with my fingers working the edges, I started to do the breast stroke: fingers together, fingers apart, working and stretching. It began to work.

I moved nervously into position to have a go at achieving the same result myself. I scooped up a piece of dough from its snug tray. It immediately stuck to my fingers and when I threw it at the flour, it just remained stuck. I had to pull it off. The first bit is easy, or so it seems, but unless you follow the right procedure you sow the seeds of later failure.

Real, or original, pizza is an art: the pizzaiolo is baker, fire stoker and cook. A wood-burning oven is an essential part of the proceedings. However, before the pizzas get to the fire, they have to be properly shaped and it was this procedure that was causing me all the grief.

From here it was all hands. He pressed out the dough with his fingers, all the time working in flour and pressing the edges out until a small round circle had emerged. He then threw it into his hands, twirling it to shake off the excess flour. He did not toss it in the air. 'Tossing is for show,' he said disdainfully. 'It is not necessary.' Once the flour was shaken off, he put the dough onto the steel work surface with one half of it hanging over the edge. One hand pressed and stretched and the other pulled in the opposite direction. Before you could say 'pizza Margherita' there was a perfect circle ready to be topped.

The object is to press out the edges, not the centre, using the flour to dry out the stickiness. However, the temptation to press everything in sight to make it stretch into a circular shape is too strong; before I knew it, I had thick edges and a thin centre.

Then I noticed, to my horror, that some customers were watching me. 'Shall we watch the man make the pizza?' a man asked his young daughter, who he was holding in his arms.

A hole appeared in the centre. 'Look, Daddy. There's a hole,' the little girl said. I looked up from my work, crestfallen. I was defeated. 'It's my first evening,' I admitted. Francesco stepped in with the paddle and my second pizza went where the first one had gone: on the fire. We all watched it go up in flames.

Francesco noticed and applauded. I wanted to call back the little girl and tell her: 'I can do it! It's just like swimming!' My base was not perfectly round but it was not bad. It wasn't perfectly even but it was certainly an improvement. We decided to top it. We put on a thin smear of tomato sauce and some mozzarella.

When I got there, Francesco showed me where to put it. There was a point in the deep oven away from the fire, where the pizzas go when they are first put into the oven. I put the long handle deep into the oven and, feeling the heat on my arms, brought it back sharply. The pizza slid onto the floor of the oven. My first pizza was in the oven and not being burnt alive.

My first pizza was cremated. I hadn't even got to the toppings, let alone the tossing stage. I was stuck on the rolling-out bit. I fast discovered that specialist pizza chefs – pizzaioli – don't use rolling pins, they use their hands to shape the dough into perfect circles. Francesco Sarritzu, the pizzaiolo at The Park restaurant in Queen's Park, London, where I went to be trainee for the evening, took one look at my sorry effort and sighed. ___ Real, or original, pizza is an art: the pizzaiolo is baker, fire stoker and cook. A wood-burning oven is an essential part of the proceedings. However, before the pizzas get to the fire, they have to be properly shaped and it was this procedure that was causing me all the grief. ___ From here it was all hands. He pressed out the dough with his fingers, all the time working in flour and pressing the edges out until a small round circle had emerged. He then threw it into his hands, twirling it to shake off the excess flour. He did not toss it in the air. 'Tossing is for show,' he said disdainfully. 'It is not necessary.' Once the flour was shaken off, he put the dough onto the steel work surface with one half of it hanging over the edge. One hand pressed and stretched and the other pulled in the opposite direction. Before you could say 'pizza Margherita' there was a perfect circle ready to be topped. ___ The object is to press out the edges, not the centre, using the flour to dry out the stickiness. However, the temptation to press everything in sight to make it stretch into a circular shape is too strong; before I knew it, I had thick edges and a thin centre. ___ Then I noticed, to my horror, that some customers were watching me. 'Shall we watch the man make the pizza?' a man asked his young daughter, who he was holding in his arms. ___ A hole appeared in the centre. 'Look, Daddy. There's a hole,' the little girl said. I looked up from my work, crestfallen. I was defeated. 'It's my first evening,' I admitted. Francesco stepped in with the paddle and my second pizza went where the first one had gone: on the fire. We all watched it go up in flames. ___ Francesco noticed and applauded. I wanted to call back the little girl and tell her: 'I can do it! It's just like swimming!' My base was not perfectly round but it was not bad. It wasn't perfectly even but it was certainly an improvement. We decided to top it. We put on a thin smear of tomato sauce and some mozzarella. ___ When I got there, Francesco showed me where to put it. There was a point in the deep oven away from the fire, where the pizzas go when they are first put into the oven. I put the long handle deep into the oven and, feeling the heat on my arms, brought it back sharply. The pizza slid onto the floor of the oven. My first pizza was in the oven and not being burnt alive.

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