Wednesday afternoon, my grandma has her weekly chit chat with a bunch of elderly ladies. They meet up in Café Jasmin, a place that looks like their own former living rooms back in the 50s. Lace doilies, vintage velvet sofas, kitschy lamps, patterned wallpapers. Today my grandma has a plasma TV almost as big as a movie screen, texts instead of calling, and dreams of a new laptop for Christmas. She doesn’t come to Café Jasmin for nostalgia but because she likes to have all those young people around her. Together with her girlfriends she observes the latest fashion trends, while having coffee and cake, asking me later if I wouldn’t need a pair of high heeled chelsea boots myself.
Friday evening, my friends and I sit at our table at Café Jasmin. We had to make a reservation, because it becomes quite crowded on weekends. Listening to good old Elvis, we order some retro cocktails, believing us to be more clever than the girls at the table next to us, who are having their first experience with aged whisky, because that’s very Mad Men. They’re also discussing how to get Danish sideboards from the 60s and if you can sell redundant IKEA furniture on Ebay.
Sipping on my raspberry champagne, the old furniture of my grandma comes to my mind. It’s set aside at her attic, making space for some armchairs which change their position by remote control. If she were here tonight, she’d probably go for a Vanilla Vodka Tonic.