GOLDEN fishcakes from the size of a golf-ball to that of a baguette; mounds of chopped, glazed pork skin and offal waiting to be strewn on rice sheets and lashed with a savoury broth; fluorescent rows of steamed rice cakes—elbow your way through the lunch crowds at Tiong Bahru food centre and it is hard to believe that crisis looms.

Yet over a bowl of bak kut teh—braised pork ribs in a peppery stock—Leslie Tay worries about the future of Singapore’s famous “hawker food”, the affordable fare once sold by itinerant street-sellers but now found in stalls housed in 100-odd hawker centres dotted around the island. Dr Tay, who runs an indispensable blog, ieatishootipost, dedicated to ferreting out the best stalls, frets that Singapore may be seeing the end of hawker food in its current form.

The main problem is that Singaporeans have grown used to paying prices that the market can no longer bear. When the government moved the first generation of hawkers off the streets and into fixed locations with electricity, clean running water and regular hygiene inspections, it kept rents artificially low as an incentive. Roughly half of the 6,258 government-managed stalls pay rents as low as S$160 ($120.80) a month. The other half, however, must pay market rates, which can exceed S$4,100 a month. These stallholders must compete with each other on price. People will not pay S$8 for a bowl of fishball noodles that they can get for S$3 two stalls away.

Some newer hawkers have turned to branding across multiple centres. This works well for foods such as fishballs and chicken rice that can be made in a central kitchen and then delivered to multiple stalls. It works less well for dishes such as char kway teow—Singapore’s hot mess of fat rice noodles, sausage, cockles and bean sprouts—that need a master at a wok. Some chefs have gone upscale: pasta, for baffling reasons, commands higher prices than Asian noodles. Others treat stalls as incubators, trying out their talents before taking the plunge and opening a restaurant.

The government, says Dr Tay, “has committed to providing cheap food for the masses”. With tiny flats and cramped kitchens, and with the number of two-working-parent families steadily rising, plenty of Singaporeans count on hawker markets for their sustenance. But with the first generation of hawkers retiring and their replacements paying market rents, food prices will certainly rise.

And as the masses change, so will the food. Some Singaporeans lament that a recent influx of immigrants from northern China has made their traditional Teochew or Hokkien favourites harder to find. Out has gone ampang yong tau foo, beanpaste-slathered tofu filled with minced fish. In has come mala xiang guo, a tongue-numbing Sichuan-style dish. In 20 years’ time, a S$3 bowl of Teochew minced-meat noodles could be as hard to find as a free table at lunchtime.