Men’s club
Yasmina restaurant - Jasmin Hantl
"Hello"
"Hello"
"Can I buy something yet?"
"Yes"
"Oh great."
"Marrakesh, or what?
"I don't know what it's called, it's here in the display."
"Oh, I see, the bag is there. Yes."
"This is with feta cheese?"
"It's with feta cheese, spinach, pizza, and ground beef. Sheep cheese, pizza, cheese, ground meat."
"Then I'll have the one with spinach"
A guest stretches out his smartphone to me and I look at the Google search results. Pictures of plants and bushes of white flowering jasmine. After a brief exchange, everyone agrees that wild jasmine in the streets smells different than the houseplant in this country. And while I breathe in the smoke from the charcoal grill, the boss tells me what that little strip of black armor tape on the red-painted facade above the restaurant name actually means. His daughter now owns the place. It is no longer called Jasmina but Al-Jasmin: With Jasmine. Like his daughter's name, Jasmin again, which always grew in front of the house. His eyes begin to shine for the first time between the wrinkles and dark rings.
The guests and employees here are predominantly male, international and the language mainly Arabic. Hardly any gestures here testify to the female leadership. A container of hot black tea stands ready between the stockpiling and barbecue charcoal, spirits and stacks of flyers. Shisha pipes await use. The printed menu is clear. But the variety of food offered under the glass hood encourages individual order requests.
"And what's in it? Can I have tabouleh like that?"
"No, usually with a plate, that's why not."
"Uh, plate?"
"Döras And comes there salad, garlic and sauerkraut.
"Oh yes."
And a little rice or chips, that always fits
No, dear Tabouleh, is that okay too?
"Tabouleh?"
"Instead of fries.“
"And what else?"
"And a little cauliflower, please.And an eggplant - perfect, thank you."
Shiny forehead and the eye look at me.Anything is possible, anything is made possible.
"Can I have a grill plate, instead of the rice and salad - tabouleh and stuff - mixed grill, yeah. Okay."
"Eat here?"
"Yes"
"Do you have a napkin"A cauliflower floret in the too-full patty is quickly stuffed back into the aluminum dough roll by the fingertips.A receipt with three dishes and two drinks can take a bit of time, though. Time passes and the clumsiness is forgiven by the guests because of that pinch of charm inherent in the disorganization and the plannedness of this man's economy.At least that's how I interpret the mutual, well, approving smiles to grins between the waiting guests. Nothing runs smoothly or well-rehearsed here, except the announcements - there is always time to chat.The preparation of the food sometimes seems a minor matter. Then the attention to the preparation gets full attention and becomes a small work of art. A guest is served a tiny drop of sesame sauce to taste on a giant soup spoon.Everything stands still and everyone pauses for a moment to give due appreciation to such an essential event in this world event.As if the further course depends on the one judgment of this ready-made sauce.The subject nods.I can't interpret whether this tastes good or should rather not be added to the order. We smile at each other in the round and, raising my hand, I say goodbye down the steps from whence I came.
"I reordered another one, yes".
"Can I take a piece of coal like that? A piece like that? Can I take that with me? Thank you."