Rubbish Eat Rubbish Grow

Let’s be honest, you remember the era. Before every meal became a performance for TikTok, before “aesthetic” became a flavour profile, there was a time when we discovered food by reading. Yes, reading. Long, messy, passionate blog posts written by people who were just obsessed with eating.

Between roughly 2008 and 2015, food blogging was the unruly king of Singapore’s dining scene. It was a chaotic, glorious time. People with full-time jobs and an unhealthy attachment to their DSLR lugged cameras everywhere, paying for their own meals, and then going home to write 2,000 words on a bowl of laksa.

Bloggers wrote about restaurants, hawkers, and cafes, often highlighting their favourites must-try go to places or beloved dishes that stood out in the local food scene. They personally visited these places to provide first-hand reviews, sometimes during a morning visit or on a weekend trip.

There were no media tasting invites, no rate cards, no algorithm-pleasing templates. It was simple: eat, write, share. Readers followed writers, not hashtags. A single honest review could pack a restaurant or, just as easily, leave it embarrassingly empty. We weren’t perfect, but we were real, sharing the passion and journey of discovering Singapore food bloggers’ best thing in town.

Then, almost overnight, the blogosphere got eaten. Instagram arrived, turning food into a purely visual sport. Suddenly, the taste of a dish mattered less than how it looked under a filter. TikTok sliced our attention spans into 15-second clips. The algorithm became god, and it demanded short, fast, flashy content. Long-form writing was too slow. Personality was too risky. Honesty? Bad for business. Social media quickly became the main source for food news and updates, replacing the in-depth reviews of the past.

Finally, the bloggers, once cultural arbiters and go to spot guides, became dinosaurs. Why write a thoughtful critique when you could post a reel with a trending sound? Now, people just drop quick posts or stories instead of crafting long reviews.

Brands shifted their marketing budgets to influencers with ring lights and a vocabulary limited to “so good!”, “must try!”, and “10/10 vibes.” Nobody explained what the food actually tasted like, whether it was the delicious beef or the amazing crabs. Readers stopped reading, and writers, exhausted from shouting into the void, simply stopped writing. The blogs went quiet, one by one.

And we lost something important. We lost depth. Blogs captured the voices and experiences of ordinary patrons, not just influencers or critics. Social media can show you a jiggly pancake, but it can’t tell you the story of the hawker who has been making it for 40 years.

We lost personality. In place of witty, sarcastic, and sometimes angry voices, we got a sea of sameness. We lost honesty. Most of today’s “reviews” are just sponsored ads disguised with soft focus and exclamation marks. A blogger could afford to be blunt; an influencer with a sponsorship deal cannot.

Most importantly, we lost our memory. Blogs were messy archives of Singapore’s food culture, the old-school coffee shops, the forgotten restaurants, the hawkers who retired without a successor. Bloggers would describe the tender texture of a perfectly prepared dish, or compare one version of a classic recipe to another, offering nuanced insights.

When the blogs died, a part of our culinary history was lost with them. The conversation stopped. It was a challenging shift, and many spent their time planning their next post rather than walking the streets to discover new flavours. We had hope that this would change, but the wind seemed to blow in the opposite direction.

The last visit to many beloved spots went unrecorded, and the stories of friends and families who shared meals together faded. Kids growing up without this rich food memory missed out on the cultural heritage that these blogs helped preserve. Even trips as far as Sydney reminded us of the value of deep food stories, not just quick bites. As March turns to October, and the community keeps expanding, we look forward to waking up to a new page in Singapore food bloggers’ journey.

But a funny thing happened. People got tired. Tired of the same viral cheese-pulls. Tired of staged “discoveries.” Tired of being told a mediocre café is a “hidden gem” because it has nice lighting. There’s a growing fatigue with the hype cycle. People are hungry for something more than just a pretty picture; they want context, insight, and an opinion that hasn’t been paid for. They want the truth.

Many food blogs are now run by a team of passionate writers or food lovers, working together to deliver honest reviews and in-depth stories. There’s a renewed excitement to actually visit new eateries and share genuine experiences with readers.

At Rubbish Eat Rubbish Grow, we don’t care if it’s kong bak pau, chicken rice, lunch, or some fancy gua bao. It could be old-school, trendy, or just some random dish you’d never post on the ‘gram. If it lands on the plate, it’s fair game. Sometimes, we also cover how to cook or prep these dishes, not just the final product. What matters is digging into the honest truth of what we eat, no fluff, no sugar-coating, just real opinions about real food.

This is why a voice like Rubbish Eat Rubbish Grow needs to come back. Not for nostalgia’s sake, but out of necessity. In an F&B landscape where beloved institutions are closing and new outlets and stores are constantly opening and closing in places like Orchard Road, Takashimaya Shopping Center, and Arab Street, we need real commentary more than ever.

The rise of the mini restaurant scene offers unique experiences, and IG famous cheesecake shops like Paparch Singapore have opened new outlets, drawing crowds with their viral desserts. Food bloggers often cover a good amount of eateries during a trip, sometimes even flying to Japan to explore the latest food trends.

Many managed to fit in visits to these places during a busy weekend or on a Sunday, taking advantage of free food promotions or deals that attract readers. To truly explore the food scene, a min number of days is needed for a proper food trip and one day just isn’t enough. If you’re looking for something new, head to the latest eatery or dessert spot before it’s gone.

There’s always a bittersweet moment when you have to say goodbye to a favourite outlet or after a memorable food trip. Tbh, the current food scene is more dynamic and exciting than ever, and it deserves honest, critical voices.

Food blogging never really died ; it just got drowned out by the noise. Now, it feels like the internet is ready to read again. Ready for writing with an actual point of view. This comeback isn’t about turning back the clock. It’s about bringing back a voice that says what needs to be said. The landscape has changed, but the appetite for truth hasn’t.