PopUp Bagels and Big Bagel collide in Chicago

PopUp Bagels – Lines that last hours, private equity money behind $48-dozen bagels, and a tight-knit scene of indie makers are colliding in Chicago as a premium bagel boom turns the city into a battleground—bagel by bagel, block by block.

When PopUp Bagels opened as expected this spring, the line didn’t just form—it stretched. On Lincoln Avenue. it ran several blocks long. driven by customers who waited two-plus hours nearly all day for a chance to rip and dip hot. kettle-boiled bagels in tubs of schmear. Some had driven three hours to get there.

PopUp’s franchisee, Chris Hadermann—mostly based in Atlanta—saw it coming, but the momentum still landed with force. The company is now looking at more than a dozen locations in and around Chicago, betting that the city’s bagel appetite will only keep growing.

The push arrives during a nationwide premium bagel boom, with private equity-backed newcomers paying close attention to a market that’s being squeezed by higher costs in other dining categories. Breakfast has also remained a major draw for consumers, even as budgets get tighter.

In Chicago, the newcomers are meeting an ecosystem that insists it has always made bagels worth traveling for.

That tension—between deep-pocketed expansion and fiercely independent pride—has turned Chicago’s bagel scene into something closer to a rivalry. And it’s playing out in lines, menus, prices, and the way people talk about where their money goes.

PopUp isn’t approaching the market like a smash-and-grab. Hadermann said. emphasizing a slower plan and a worry about flooding the city. “We don’t wanna cannibalize and oversaturate the brand,” he said. “The word I like is optimize. We want to grow around the city and state, but not saturate it with one on every corner.”.

Even with that message, PopUp’s strategy is clearly built for scale. The bagels arrive hot and whole in packs of three, six or 12, plus schmear—$15, $24 or $48—meant to be “gripped, ripped and dipped” in cream cheese or soft butter rather than sliced.

PopUp’s origins are part of its appeal. Founder Adam Goldberg shot to internet fame mid-pandemic when he started slinging hot, whole bagels from a Connecticut home kitchen. His “gripped. ripped and dipped” slogan came with a new style of serving: bagels meant to be torn and dipped. not cut and stacked. The brand’s growth was then fueled by money and momentum—Stripes invested $8 million in 2023. shortly after Goldberg opened the first brick-and-mortar shop in Manhattan. Stripes then became the majority owner of PopUp with an additional $27 million injection in 2024, and PopUp has since added 33 locations.

That expansion is arriving as Chicago’s indie bagel scene swells. Recent years have brought a flurry of homegrown options that aim to challenge the long-held perception that Chicago isn’t a bagel town.

Actual pop-ups are part of the energy. Middle Brow’s comically charred, sourdough Beachwater Bagels run as a Saturday pop-up. Dorothy’s Bakery, a seven-month-old shop, serves overnight fermented sourdough bagel sandwiches about a 10-minute walk east of Hadermann’s inaugural Chicago site.

In Pilsen. Rosca offers sourdough bagels made from freshly milled wheat berries and infuses them with Mexican-inspired flavors. including red mole. South Loop-based Tilly Bagel Shop bakes fluffy, chewy sourdough bagels throughout the morning in two locations. Zeitlin’s, an upmarket delicatessen, added a second Lincoln Park location where it serves pert, springy bagel sandwiches.

And in a city where waiting has become a kind of currency, Holey Dough & Co. adds its own rhythm: if customers are fast enough to get their order in at an unspecified time each Tuesday—after signing up for a text message service—they receive plump and squishy New York-style bagels.

PopUp’s rollout has also been fueled by hype. On St. Patrick’s Day, 400 people lined up for free PopUp bagels at a promotional popup at the Guinness Store House. The company declined to share details about its marketing budget or strategy. but Hadermann credited a “social media machine” for the excitement around openings.

Influencers were offered QR codes to skip the line and retrieve free bagels and limited-edition giardiniera cream cheese made in collaboration with Portillo’s.

Local food writer and former pizza maker Dennis Lee described the promotional moment. “I had no idea it was going to be bonkers, I just said OK I will try some bagels,” he said. “There was a PR lady up front handling us; about two minutes later I had all these bagels.”

On a recent Friday morning, the scene was similar—students, young parents and people in workout clothes moving through a steady flow as he waited about four minutes before placing an order.

The bagels themselves have drawn real praise from diners who sampled them. One everything bagel had a thin, crackly shell and nice seasoning, with a stretchy-soft interior. Spinach artichoke cream cheese delivered a tangy. vegetal swipe that brought back an old memory for Lee—how his grandpa used to slice off individual bagel pieces and slather them with salted butter.

But the same warmth can come with a catch. Lee said the bagels, baked throughout the day and served hot, were somewhat stale by the time he got home. The company posts explicit reheating instructions on its social media.

“Hype makes you feel good when you’re part of the happy group standing in line,” Lee said—describing the emotional pull of being surrounded by people sharing in the same moment.

At the same time, he pushed back on the idea that a chain’s success should automatically be celebrated. Lee said the tradeoff is baked into the model: “I think the one thing everyone overlooks is that the food at a chain or private equity place can be good. but it’s always overpriced and cookie cutter and yes. crushes mom and pops.”.

He also wondered whether bagels, even when they trend online, have enough staying power to survive the whims of an audience that can move quickly from one obsession to the next.

For Hadermann, the answer is to manage the pace—and keep the experience consistent. That restraint is meant to prevent PopUp from overwhelming the market it has entered.

PopUp isn’t the only premium newcomer testing that boundary.

An outpost of New York icon H&H opened last year in Fulton Market. a decade after former Wall Street investor Jay Rushin bought the company with national expansion goals. D.C.-based deli Call Your Mother also brought its New York/Montreal-hybrid bagels to Bucktown this spring after asset management fund Invus bought a majority stake.

In Bucktown, the location drew the ire of another local. Around the corner from kettle-boiled indie stalwart BroBagel, the new Call Your Mother outpost became a flashpoint for BroBagel cofounder Bill Jacobs, who with his brothers owns Piece Pizzeria and Brewery.

The argument spilled beyond the block. By then, commenters on Reddit and TikTok were already taking issue with the prices and calling the consequences of supporting Big Bagel “morally questionable.”

Mindy’s Bakery owner Mindy Segal offered a different view, arguing that wherever consumers shop, they are also “helping give salaries to hourly employees” trying to pay their bills.

Chicago’s answer to the question of who “belongs” in its bagel story may be visible in places that look nothing like PopUp’s hype line.

A few days after the PopUp debut. a drive took one diner to Rosca in Pilsen for half a dozen bagels and cream cheese priced at $25. Carryout-only, the spot sits inside bottled cocktail maker Hoste’s production facility and event space. Chef and owner Felix Zepeda’s bagels are hand-rolled and start with hand-ground, locally sourced wheat berries. They take three days to make.

Rosca’s bagels arrive with a thick crust, snap, and interior chew. They’re heavily seasoned with flavors tied to Zepeda’s native Pilsen and Mexican heritage. Red mole is one of the standout options, with a bagel thickly coated with black and white sesame seeds. Mexican everything leans into cumin, Mexican oregano, lime, and the warming heat of ancho chile.

The presentation is almost playful. Zepeda’s visually striking bagels were neatly arranged in a sliding cardboard box resembling a sneaker box—a nod to another love of Zepeda’s. joked about by general manager and Zepeda’s girlfriend. Ariana Cabral. who slid the box closed after offering a tantalizing peek inside.

The choice also points to what indie shops are often selling beyond the product: identity. In Zepeda’s case, it’s a slow process—three days from wheat berries to finished bagels—and flavors built for a specific kind of neighborhood pride.

The same can’t be said for PopUp’s model, which is designed to turn viral demand into a repeatable format, backed by private investment and a clear willingness to meet customers where their attention already is.

That’s why the question hanging over Chicago’s bagel scene isn’t just whether PopUp will succeed.

It’s whether the city’s growing appetite is big enough to hold both the spectacle of $48-dozen artisanal bagels and the quieter, longer work of indie makers who believe the city’s story should stay theirs.

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