TASK 7. (7 points)
Read the following newspaper article and then answer the questions 7.1. - 7.7. below
in the space provided. For each correct answer you will be given 1 point.
By Nigel Slater
I want to feel that tingle of pleasure that comes with sitting down to lunch in a foreign city.
The one you get when a white-aproned waiter hands you a menu that hasn't changed in years
and where there is the unmistakable squirt of fresh seafood in the air and the luxurious rattle
of ice cubes in silver buckets. Most of all, I want to feel the frisson that accompanies a trip
that you shouldn't really be taking; time stolen when you can least afford it.
That city could be Paris, of course, but I am after a restaurant that is confidently
old-fashioned, rather than simply resting on its laurels. My wish list is written in indelible
blue-black ink: an unfussy, slightly old-fashioned room with a view of a busy street;
tablecloths starched to snapping point and silverware that bears the patina of years of endless
polishing. Iced water, crisp rolls whose crust shatters when you break them and little rounds
of cold butter brought automatically to the table. There should be the gentle buzz of
a restaurant that is running like a well-tuned engine; whose waiters know which of you is
having the halibut without having to ask, and where the wine is served ever-so-slightly too
cold.
Above all, I want shellfish, preferably served on a battered tin dish that has seen a century
of roughly crushed ice; a generous arrangement of fresh oysters all ready to swallow slowly;
a plainly boiled crab with wobbly mayonnaise; a couple of langoustines and some newly
boiled prawns with shells to peel away and leave in a great pile. I know it is expensive,
but there is no meal more romantic, no lunch that makes you feel happier to be alive.
No tottering tower of frilly, modern food can match the sheer ozone-scented joy of life that
comes free with an order of fruits de mer.
I decide that the foreign city is to be Amsterdam and phone a friend whose directions towards
such a lunch are more dependable than any guide. So, 24 hours later, I am sitting in one of
those vast, cafe-populated squares Europeans do so well, having coffee and waiting for the
place to open. The place is exactly what I had dreamt of. Through the window you can see
the old red velvet chairs and sheer damask cloths, the pepper mills and the silverware
gleaming in the morning sun. Yes, there are ice buckets, too, and a marble slab worn into
a gentle slope from years of waiters cutting lemons. The menu lists poached turbot rather than
seared tuna, and sauce hollandaise rather than wasabi mayonnaise.
The cafes are bringing out their lunch menus. British tourists are ordering beer and chips.
I'm on my second coffee and distinctly hungry. My restaurant has yet to show any sign of life.
I move over to the door and give it a timid shove. It doesn't budge. On the menu, they have
marinated herrings and lobster on the half-shell, grilled sole and deep-fried plaice. There are
prawn cocktails and fried whitebait, smoked salmon and fish soup. And, of course, the oysters
I have come for. I give the door another push, harder this time, but there is a pile of papers
in the way. Sitting on the doormat is what must be a month's worth of unopened bills.
My lunch date appears to be dead in the water.
24 hours later, with the local gossip of the restaurant's scandal and bankruptcy still ringing in
my ears, I'm standing once more in the queue at my own fishmonger, waiting patiently while
everyone gets their fish gutted. I shall have my own little fruits de mer at home.
I run back with a bag of mussels and a knobbly parcel of prawns, a handful of clams and
a bundle of razor shells. At the bottom of my bag are six plump oysters, and in another, a bag
of ice from the wine shop. I shall boil my own prawns and open my own oysters and crush my
own ice. I will open the wine and unfold my own crisply starched napkin. And sod it, I shall
even be the white-aproned waiter that brings it to my table.
Abridged from The Observer, April 25, 2004
Część II
7
7.1. Apart from having a meal in a restaurant what seems to be the main reason for Nigel’s
excitement about the trip, as suggested in the first paragraph? (1 point)
7.2. Nigel Slater says a restaurant should run like a well-tuned engine. What does he mean?
(1 point)
7.3. The restaurant Nigel found in Amsterdam did not open. Explain why. (1 point)
7.4. / 7.5. Find in the text and quote two descriptions of old tableware. (2 points)
a)
b)
7.6. What does the phrase ‘to be dead in the water’ mean in the context of the text? (1 point)
7.7. Why is Nigel determined to play the roles of the cook, waiter and customer during his
lunch at home? (1 point)
Część II
8
WRITING
Official CKE answer key found in corpus at arkusze/jezyk-angielski-2007-maj-matura-dwujezyczna-odpowiedzi-2 (matura.lol's automatic pairing missed it). Nigel Slater restaurant article, short-answer questions (accepted sample answers per official key): 7.1 The fact that he is doing something he doesn't have time for (stealing time when he can least afford it). 7.2 The restaurant should run smoothly/effectively/without problems. 7.3 The restaurant had gone bankrupt. 7.4/7.5 (any two of): 'silverware that bears the patina of years of endless polishing'; 'a battered tin dish that has seen a century of roughly crushed ice'; 'a marble slab worn into a gentle slope from years of waiters cutting lemons'. 7.6 'Dead in the water' means it has failed/is not going to work out. 7.7 He wants to recreate the atmosphere of the restaurant at home.
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