Is hawker culture dying? The real cost behind 'cheap and good' food
"In five to 10 more years, more hawkers will exit and we will lose more flavours," warns Khoo Keat Hwee.
The former hawker and founder of Mentai-Ya, who prefers to go by Keat, has become a small but steady advocate for hawkers on TikTok through his channel, '食话实说' ('Food Truths').
He isn't alone in his concern. KF Seetoh, a longtime champion of Singapore's hawker culture, paints an equally stark picture.
The Makansutra founder foresees that in the not-so-distant future, hawker centres may one day resemble school canteens, with stalls run by food conglomerates in a central kitchen, and little left of the artisanal element of hawker food.
It feels contradictory. Barely a decade ago, Singapore secured UNESCO recognition for our hawker culture. Yet, those closest to the ground now warn that it's at risk.
What is hawker culture, really?
Seetoh stresses that hawker culture and hawker centres are not the same.
Hawker centres have an overseeing body in the National Environment Agency (NEA); hawker culture — the craft, legacy, and passing down of tradition through generations — does not.
Food researcher Jenny Dorsey, who spent the past two years at the National University of Singapore studying hawker culture, says it boils down to one simple question: "When we talk about preserving hawker culture, what exactly are we trying to preserve?"
Many assume preserving hawker culture means keeping food cheap.
"They just want people to have cheap food (that costs) $3, $3.50… but where is the heartfelt responsibility to ensure that (hawkers) can thrive and survive and fully capitalise on food culture for all sorts of reasons?" questions Seetoh.
Ms Dorsey is blunt: "Hawker food is inexpensive at the expense of hawkers, which is not right".
Hawker 'hazards'
Keat knows the industry well enough to say this: working in the food and beverage industry means that "you've got no time with your family (and) you have to work weekends".
He recalls hearing about a hawker who continued operations while she was undergoing chemotherapy. "If she doesn't open, she can't make money," he said.
For younger hawkers like Vince Gwee, a former accountant who now runs dim sum stall Bao Hao with his uncle, the "physical and mental strain" of the job was his biggest challenge when he joined the business.
He said the "long hours" and "hot environment" were the hardest parts to adapt to.
Manpower, however, remains a breaking point.
Ms Dorsey found that many older hawkers are retiring, and they need a "helping hand", but cannot find help at wages they can afford.
In addition, regulations prohibiting foreigners from operating hawker shops can be restrictive, adding another layer of difficulty.
Ms Dorsey says some hawkers have told her they would pass their recipes to anyone willing to continue the business, regardless of their citizenship status.
She points out that as of this year, hawker stallholders can now hire long-term visit pass holders, a move from the Ministry of Manpower (MOM) to combat rising manpower costs. However, Ms Dorsey caveats that it's still too early to judge the policy's effectiveness.
Meanwhile, to hire foreign workers, some hawkers resort to listing "phantom workers", adding family members into the headcount to meet MOM requirements.
Even with higher starting salaries of $3,000, Keat adds, people are still reluctant to join the industry.
Elephants in the room: rising rentals and budget meals
Two recurring issues stand out: soaring rentals and the pressure to offer budget meals.
"If you don't do well, the landlord will say, (rent has to increase because of) inflation and market rate. If you do well, the owner will say 'someone else wants to come in, so I need to increase your rent'," Keat claims.
The reality on the ground, says Keat, is that rents can easily start from $3,000 to $4,000 per month, above the official median shared by NEA — $1,250 for NEA-managed hawker centres and $1,700 for Socially-conscious Enterprise Hawker Centres (SEHCs) between 2015 and 2023.
This can go up even higher for areas with no competing hawker centres and coffee shops.
At the same time, hawkers in SEHCs are still expected to offer $3 to $3.50 budget meals, with $2.80 budget meals not unheard of.
Ms Dorsey says this "doesn't make sense". "You cannot put a price ceiling on their food, but no price ceiling on their costs. That's not how economics works, right?" asks the food researcher.
The math also doesn't add up for Keat, who estimates making only $1.20 per budget meal. If every customer ordered a budget meal, he says, it would take "forever" to merely break even.
Seetoh doesn't mince words. "Abolish SEHCs," he said, questioning why an additional operator should sit between hawkers and diners.
In a recent Facebook post, the longtime critic of the SEHC model questioned why hawkers — many of whom are "not well off" — should shoulder the cost of subsidising meals for others.
The support hawkers actually need
The missing piece of the puzzle? A hawker's perspective.
For Mr Gwee of Bao Hao, help looks like "more affordable rental options" and "stable ingredient pricing". Hawkers want to provide good food, he says, but rising costs make it "hard to survive".
Mr Gwee also hopes for practical support, like grants for equipment upgrades, shorter admin processes, or digital marketing courses, to help hawkers "modernise" while keeping food heritage alive.
Ms Dorsey believes deeper structural change is needed. She argues for "democratic decision-making" rather than top-down policies, and wants hawkers to be directly involved so that hawker centres can better reflect their realities and needs.
What are ordinary Singaporeans willing to do?
For some Singaporeans, preserving hawker culture means adjusting expectations.
Andre Tan, 27, who runs Instagram account @thrastagram, grew up paying $3.50 for his hokkien mee. Today, he's willing to pay up to $7 for a plate that's done well.
Hawker food, he says, now feels like "comfort more than convenience". "It's not about 'cheap and good' anymore, but about honest food at a fair enough price."
Mark Koh, 55, who documents hawker fare on @jinghorjiak, echoes this. The food creator recalls prata costing 20 cents in his childhood — but believes today's hawker prices are still "reasonable and affordable", especially for the quality offered.
Both say diners should review responsibly. Mr Koh focuses on quality over price, while Mr Tan tries to highlight strengths rather than nitpick at flaws, especially for older hawkers.
Not all food reviewers share this ethos. Lucas Neo, executive director of a financial agency, drew backlash for his TikTok series "exposing" Michelin-rated hawkers.
Both Seetoh and Keat are critical of such an approach.
Keat sees a growing culture of viral 'exposes' like Neo's, where content creators disguise "nasty" reviews as being "honest". He worries it chips away at the morale of hawkers.
If diners do not like a dish, said Keat, they can simply share their feedback directly with the stall or choose not to patronise the stall again.
There's no need to "tell the world" — especially on a platform like TikTok, where older hawkers do not have a presence and cannot address the negative feedback.
Seetoh puts it sharply: "You have no right to criticise people for doing their level best to sell good food."
Hawker culture isn't fading because the food has changed. It's struggling because the expectation of "cheap and good" hasn't. As Ms Dorsey puts it: "The problem is that we've only kept one part of the deal."
Hawkers are adapting, but they cannot bear the burden alone. If Singapore wants hawker culture to survive, it will take more than UNESCO recognition.
It will require material support, fair expectations, and most importantly, a willingness to let hawkers earn what their craft is worth.
