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You have queues to thank for the existence of Self Raised Snack Shoppe in Bexley North. Co-owner Huss Rachid was compelled to open this kiosk after the lines kept growing at its sister cafe, Self Raised Bread Shoppe in Carlton.

“We’d have people waiting outside before we’d open the doors,” he says.
And when people did enter for four-cheese toasties, halal-friendly hoagies and choc custard tarts, the queues would sometimes snake for 40 metres down the street.

Some operators might revel in the buzz generated from constant crowds, but Rachid didn’t want to keep people idling – or deter others from turning up. “We just didn’t want to be, like, a hype train,” he says.

So this February – a year after Rachid launched Self Raised Bread Shoppe with sister Amani and business partner Sal Senan – the trio opened this spin-off venture. It’s located near My Mother’s Cousin, the New York-style pizzeria they also run (which, incidentally, is a queue magnet as well).

There’s no overcomplicated 10-part mystery as to why their eateries keep autofilling with crowds: they’re all places that brilliantly reward your appetite.
And although Self Raised Snack Shoppe opened as a crowd-control measure, it’s natural that it also generates lines. After all, it specialises in sandwiches, pastries and other specials you won’t find at the other cafe, such as lemon meringue doughnuts and sweet-chilli mayo prawn rolls.

There’s also the Snack-Shoppe-only steak sandwich, which transforms Rachid’s love of steak and eggs into a portable breakfast item ready for your grip: pressed between sesame-studded ciabatta layers are slices of well-done Scotch fillet, a herbal hit of chimichurri, mild horseradish mayo and the sunshiney ooze and frilly pulp of good fried eggs. You might need a few serviettes to blot out
the happy mess that comes from handling this. Also recommended: matching it with fries deeply flavoured with Rachid’s seasoning of choice. “I was just eating salt for a week to figure out the perfect chicken salt,” he says. “I was struggling with blood pressure issues.”

There’s also airy Roman-style pizza by the slice, shaped from local Wholegrain Milling flour: the margarita is grounded in the rich intensity of San Marzano tomatoes and topped with two kinds of creamy mozzarella from La Stella, a cheesemaker in Auburn.

And while the house-baked goods are usually excellent, the vegetarian focaccia doesn’t hold up as well: it soon becomes a soggy landslide of pesto-slicked artichokes, roasted capsicum, rocket and eggplant. A better meat-free flex is a transplant from the original cafe: a grilled toastie that’s a best-of compilation of melted cheese, with double brie, aged Maffra cheddar, Swiss cheese and mozzarella. It’s a knockout worth upgrading with extra savoury mushrooms. At Snack Shoppe, you can tailor it further, by loading on caramelised onions.

Sarah Ghantous, the head pastry chef for both venues, is responsible for the wonders on the counter. Her panna cotta sponge cake has a sunshine-bright dazzle and the raspberry and strawberry danish is a jackpot of cream and fruit.

The ever-changing rotation means I’m too late for the za’atar, haloumi and honey scroll but my sweet tooth is sated with the iced Milo, which swirls on the back counter (along with house-made iced tea and lemonade). Did you also dunk spoonfuls of Milo into after-school drinks? Snack Shoppe’s version is free of those clumps that bobbed in your glass. It has the silken-sweetness of liquid chocolate and the sugary jolt youthfully reactivates my adult brain on a tired, grey day. “It’s refreshing and Milo is a very Australian thing,” Rachid says.

Invented in NSW by Thomas Mayne in 1934, Milo then ricocheted worldwide. The iced Milo poured at Snack Shoppe is inspired by Milo dinosaurs that Rachid sipped in Singapore (the drink is named for its giant size). It’s been reinterpreted with enthusiasm and, like many things at Self Raised Snack Shoppe, it’s something I’d happily queue for.