Heidi Tan, Flor Patisserie
Heidi Tan was 21 years old when she decided to open her own patisserie. “When you start so young, you don’t have as much fear because you haven’t tasted failure yet,” the Le Cordon Bleu-trained chef says with a laugh. “I would say that starting a business is fairly easy. But sustaining a business”—she pauses, her tone turning pensive—“that is the difficult part.”
Tan opened Flor Patisserie’s first outlet on Duxton Hill in 2010, before the area became a magnet for the hip restaurants that line its streets today. “There was no other Japanese patisserie in Singapore back then,” she confirms. “We were the leader in this category, which put us in a very good spot.”
The patisserie quickly gained a dedicated fan following for its intricate Japanese-inspired French pastries and cakes, always made fresh and with the highest-quality ingredients available. With the help of a small but growing team, Tan expanded the business’s footprint across Singapore, from kiosks in high-traffic malls like Ngee Ann City and Funan to a storefront on East Coast Road.
Today, the brand operates from a single outlet in a stretch of quaint shophouses on Siglap Drive, where it has been for 12 years. Located in a largely residential area with veterinary clinics and tuition centres as its neighbours, the cake shop has become a beloved community fixture which draws customers from all corners of the island—a winning example of Singapore’s fervent food culture.
That is, until July this year. Facing an unsustainable rent hike (a proposed increase in the monthly rent from $5,400 to $8,500, a 57 percent rise), Tan has made the difficult decision to close Flor Patisserie’s final outlet.
“It was the pandemic that opened my eyes to how unsustainable running a brick-and-mortar business is in Singapore. Even big chains find it difficult to survive—so what more small, independent businesses, which don’t have economies of scale to rely on?” Tan reflects, pointing to global chains like Hai Di Lao and Burger & Lobster, among others, which have shuttered in the past year.
To survive the sluggish markets brought on by COVID-19, Tan had made the decision to close Flor Patisserie’s higher-rent units in Duxton and East Coast, instead consolidating her resources into her Siglap Drive outlet.
“When we closed all the other shops at the height of the pandemic and retreated to this one, I did my calculations and told my team that the next two years were going to be hard. I wouldn’t be able to give them their annual increment. But they understood completely,” Tan shares, her eyes welling up with tears. “That’s why I’m very sad to have to let them go now. Because they stood by me still.”
Singapore’s dining scene is headed in a troubling direction: flattened and faceless, rather than a true reflection of the country’s character.
For Tan’s business to survive, a 57 percent hike in rent would require her to pass on a bulk of the cost to her customers—something she’s reluctant to do. “I will need to increase my prices at least by 30 percent,” she explains. “This will completely alienate my patrons.
“We lost many customers when we closed our other outlets because it was a hassle to travel here. Our location is not the best as it has very little parking available and is 20 minutes from the nearest MRT station. We foresaw that drop in sales and planned for it—but now, with the rent increase, it just doesn’t make sense.”
The recent cascade of homegrown restaurants, bars and cafes shuttering across the island signals that Singapore’s culinary landscape is headed in a troubling direction: flattened and faceless, rather than a true reflection of the country’s character and the melange of identities that exist within it.
This move towards becoming a hyper-globalised destination dominated by universal name-brands begs the question: what do we stand to lose when local businesses cannot survive?
“It is the small, independent business that adds vibrancy to the market,” Tan says. “Local brands represent what the Singaporean identity truly is. As more big international businesses replace the small guys, the landscape will inevitably become sterile and cookie-cutter.”
If this is Flor Patisserie’s final chapter, what Tan finds the hardest to say goodbye to are the loyal patrons she has served time and time again, seeing them through numerous milestones.
“We have customers who started dating, then got married, then had children. And we’ve made the cakes for them to celebrate each occasion,” she says, emotion clouding her voice. “That’s what disappoints me the most about having to close—the community that has kept us going all these years and that we will no longer get to serve.”
Hazel Long, Junior the Pocket Bar
Hazel Long fell into bartending by accident. “People don’t believe me when I say this, but when I entered the industry, I didn’t drink. I was looking to earn extra pocket money while in university and knew nothing about being a bartender,” she says.
Today, the 30-year-old helms Junior the Pocket Bar, a speakeasy on Ann Siang Hill known for attracting a stylish, insider crowd. In Long’s words, Junior became a cult favourite not because of size but soul. The bar rotates between a diverse Rolodex of concepts, from New Orleans jazz to Korea’s Joseon dynasty, with a full remodel—from decor to cocktail list—accompanying each new theme, making the experience exceptionally immersive.
When Long announced Junior’s seemingly abrupt closure earlier this year, messages of grief and support poured in from across the industry. “If I could have kept us open, I would have,” she muses. “The truth is that I had reached a point beyond burnout. With constant inflation, it became unsustainable to keep going.”
Long had originally started running Junior with a partner, who left the business during COVID-19. “The pandemic was challenging. Almost every day, we had to navigate new guidelines in order to stay open while keeping our patrons safe. But I took on ownership because I wanted to keep the spirit of Junior alive and also take care of my team.”
It was ultimately the long-term effects of the pandemic, rather than its most immediate challenges, that took the largest toll on the business. “Pandemic lockdowns fundamentally shifted Singapore’s cocktail culture. As people got accustomed to staying home, the desire to spend nights out also seemed to dwindle,” Long reflects.
“Before COVID-19, it was normal for a pair of guests to have five drinks between them in two hours. These days, it’s often just one each. That loss adds up, especially in a space where every seat is precious real estate.”
Long points to this drop in spending, combined with inflationary pressures across the board, as the key reasons that running the business became unsustainable. “When eggs cost more at FairPrice, it’s the same for bars. We don’t get a special wholesale deal,” she says. “Everything goes up.”
With the growing graveyard of independent businesses shuttering one after another, a culture of fear has begun to take hold of Singapore’s F&B industry.
Rising costs have led to a steady creep in cocktail prices not only at Junior, but the majority of bars across Singapore. While Long sympathises with customers balking at the nightlife experience increasingly becoming more expensive, she explains that what may look like inflated pricing is often the only way a business can survive.
“There is this conception that bars pour some liquid into a fancy glass and slap a price tag on it at random. Understandably, some patrons don’t know what a $28 cocktail actually entails. They don’t see the 48 hours of prep that goes behind an infusion or the technique involved in manipulating it until it turns into gold. At a place like Junior, you are also paying for the venue, lighting and trained staff, which all come together to create that curated experience,” Long says.
Beyond the loss of a beloved presence in the cocktail community, Junior’s closure is also symptomatic of a larger problem: the steady erosion of individuality in our nightlife scene. “If this keeps going and more independent businesses close, Singapore risks losing its edge and falling off as a nightlife destination,” Long warns. “We rely heavily on tourism and on places like ours, not just chains.”
With the growing graveyard of independent businesses shuttering one after another, she agrees that a culture of fear has begun to take hold of Singapore’s F&B industry. This could turn promising talent away from joining the field, worsening the problem further.
“Right now, I’m just trying to grieve properly,” Long says. “It’s easy to feel like you have to move on quickly or find the next thing. But I gave everything I had to Junior. I need time to reckon with that loss.” She’s not sure what comes next, but she’s not ruling out a return. “I still love the bar world,” she says with a smile. “I just need to miss it a little first.”
Vogue Singapore’s July/August ‘Home’ issue will be out on newsstands from 13 July and available to preorder online.
