Skip to main content

Advertisement

Advertisement

What it’s like to queue 90 minutes for Bake Cheese Tarts on opening day

SINGAPORE — I’ve never queued for Hello Kitties at McDonald’s, newly launched iPhone models or a H&M designer capsule collection.

SINGAPORE — I’ve never queued for Hello Kitties at McDonald’s, newly launched iPhone models or a H&M designer capsule collection.

I have, of course, queued for restaurants and food — I’m Singaporean and proud of it — but mostly in other countries, where no one is likely to recognise me, and never on the first day of a much-hyped outlet’s opening. (By “queue”, I mean a wait upwards of 20 minutes.)

I guess that’s why my boss thought it would be fun to send me to stand in line at 10am on the first day of Bake Cheese Tart’s operations at ION Orchard.

The famous brand, originally from Hokkaido, came to Singapore on April 29 hot on the heels of Prima Deli’s Lava Cheese Tarts and Antoinette’s cheese tarts, turning our little island to a big cheesy confectionary.

I arrived at the store to see only a few people milling around among the congratulatory flower stands. How nice, no queue. But I soon realised that the snaking line was actually a few metres away, with barricades set up and staff brandishing “end of queue” signs, and I immediately did an about-turn in order to buy a couple of curry puffs (no queue for those). If I was going to stand in that line, I knew I would need sustenance. After all, an army marches on its stomach.

With victuals in my field pack, I slunk to the end of the line, battling an almost panic-inducing sense of shame. By joining the queue, I was establishing myself as a sheep, not a shepherd; a trend-follower, not a leader (but not as much of a follower as the first person in the queue, of course). I was no longer an individual; I was simply part of a phenomenon.

My only thought was: “I can’t be seen queuing for cheese tarts.” Then again, it was the opening hour of a much-hyped brand that has outlets in Hong Kong and Bangkok. There were photographers and reporters. And, now that everybody’s a blogger or Instagram influencer, even passers-by were Snapchatting and taking pictures and videos of the queue. I kept my head down, pretended to look at my phone and made sure my hair was hanging over my face. I had never felt so self-conscious in my life.

Most humiliating of all was the knowledge that in a few weeks, I wouldn’t have to endure the wait at all. Because when it comes to food trends, Singaporeans are notoriously unfaithful lovers. Aglow with the ardour of the first flush of infatuation, we rush into queues where angels fear to tread. Our passion wanes faster than you can say Pepto-Bismol, and then we are off to worship at other tasty, young altars.

Bake’s vice-president, Overseas Business, Masataka Kanemaki, knows full well that this is the case. “Some people say Singaporeans like very new things. It is easy for things to be hot and popular; it is also easy for them to cool down. I hope that won’t be the case for Bake,” he said, adding: “I’m very happy to see this response. We prepared 4,000 tarts for today, and we are in the process of making more.”

But who were all these people who were snapping up the 4,000 tarts — especially when each customer is limited to only 12? “How come these people are so free and don’t need to work?” I wondered, while fanning myself in the stifling air.

A casual conversation with the young man directly behind me revealed that it was his day off, and he had come prepared to queue because he had tried and liked the tarts in Japan. Also in line were an elderly lady and her daughter-in-law, who had, similarly, become fans of Bake while in Japan. They, understandably, were smitten lovers waiting eagerly to be reunited with their summer flings. But one of the first people in the queue, 30-year-old analyst Sherman Wong, had not even tasted the tarts before. “I heard about Bake from my friends who visited Japan,” he said. “I work from home, so I decided to come to town for breakfast. Since I was in the area, I thought, ‘Why not queue?’”

I could think of plenty of reasons not to queue, the first being that I had now been on my feet for an hour and a half; the second being that I was running dangerously low on curry puffs. Just then, there was movement. Staff came down the line handing out laminated cards that read, “Confirmed — 12 pieces per person”. I was then herded to the shop, where I stood in a shorter line for about 10 minutes, pressing my nose up against the glass to admire trays of uniformly arranged tarts as every single person in front of and behind me took endless photos.

As it turned out, a vast sea of time stands between you and your tarts because the pastries are freshly baked, cooled and then very carefully and slowly packed into an elaborate contraption of a paper box.

After forking out S$39 for a dozen tarts, I was both poor and tired. But, walking out of the store with a cheery yellow Bake paper bag in hand, a strange feeling came over me. It was the irritatingly smug feeling of being one of the first people in Singapore to be able to bestow the famous Bake cheese tarts upon their friends, much as a post-lamp Aladdin scattered his largesse amongst crowds of impressed peasants. I could now sort of understand why queuing is our national past-time.

That said, if you saw a photo of the queue and spotted me attempting to appear inconspicuous in it, well, that’s not me. It’s just someone who looks like me. Really.

Read more of the latest in

Advertisement

Advertisement

Stay in the know. Anytime. Anywhere.

Subscribe to get daily news updates, insights and must reads delivered straight to your inbox.

By clicking subscribe, I agree for my personal data to be used to send me TODAY newsletters, promotional offers and for research and analysis.