Meet the Gen Zers who work 12-hour days, give up university dreams to keep family food dreams alive

SINGAPORE - It is 8pm on a Saturday night. Across the island, hordes of young people are busy making the most of their weekend. Dinner first, then maybe drinks. Or a movie. Or the club. The night, after all, is still young. 

But for 26-year-old Delonix Tan, it is time for bed. The part-time hawker has to be up barely five hours later at 12.40am to begin a gruelling five-hour process that transforms frozen yellowtail fillets into fishballs.

Doing this over and over again can be tiring, he admits, but it is better than where he was once headed.

His teenage self would scarcely recognise the disciplined, laser-focused young adult who now helps to run his family's yong tau foo stall at Kim Keat Palm Market & Food Centre in Toa Payoh.

At age 15, he fell in with the wrong crowd. Before long, he was getting into fights, plastering his arm with tattoos and drowning his troubles in alcohol. He continued his entanglement with gangs throughout his studies at the Institute of Technical Education (ITE) College West, and was locked up twice for illegal assembly and assault. 

The wake-up call came when he was expelled from ITE at age 17. 

"That was a huge blow to me because I was only six months away from graduating," he recalls. 

"I realised that though my identity was rooted in my friends, only my family was there for me when I was locked up. So I asked myself, 'Is this really what you want to continue doing?', and made the decision to turn my life around."

He searched for an alternative purpose, then realised the answer was in front of him all along. 

"I figured that since my family was running a fishball stall, I might as well try getting involved in the business. And it turned out to be good for me, since instead of partying, I would spend my time working at the stall instead," says the bachelor, who is in a relationship.

Mr Tan, who works full time as a senior operations executive at a local caterer during the week, has been helping out at his parents' stall, Heng Kee Fishball & Yong Tau Foo, every Sunday for seven years now, and has no plans to stop any time soon. 

On the contrary, he has expanded the business, which he plans to helm after his parents retire. He took over a neighbouring unit four years ago and named it Sandai Fishball. Sandai means three generations in Chinese, and it is a nod to his grandfather, who first sold fishballs and yong tau foo from a roadside pushcart in the 1960s before moving the business to its present location in the 1970s. 

Then there is 23-year-old Mark Zubovskyy, a Ukraine-born Singapore permanent resident, who is also following in his father's footsteps. Initially, the plan was to get a degree in maritime business from Nanyang Technological University (NTU), inspired by his 53-year-old father, Mr Vadim Zoubovski, a former sailor. 

But after watching his dad struggle to keep Kapitan - their nautical-themed restaurant serving Slavic food in Maxwell Chambers - afloat, Mr Zubovskyy decided to drop out of school to honour his legacy differently.

"I'd been helping out at the restaurant since I finished national service in 2022. As the date of my enrolment grew closer, I realised I couldn't leave the restaurant because we just didn't have enough hands," he says. 

So he gave up his place at NTU a couple of weeks before the school term began. Instead of hitting the books and grinding out assignments, he now churns out social media videos promoting the restaurant. On top of that, he manages the kitchen, clears dishes, settles payments and occasionally bartends. 

It means working from 11am to 11pm six days a week, but he says it is all worth it. 

"I'm sad that I won't get to experience university culture, but what I'm doing here is more meaningful. I've learnt a lot more in the past two years than I would have at university." 

Social media savvy

Mr Zubovskyy's stint at Kapitan has taught him, above all, the harsh realities of running a restaurant in Singapore, especially one serving unfamiliar fare such as Russian dumplings (from $12), Ukrainian borscht ($14) and zharkoe ($25), a traditional Eastern European pork stew served in a bread bowl.

Mr Zoubovski, who moved to Singapore 20 years ago when his job as an operations manager at a shipping firm brought him here, first opened the restaurant with his wife at Maxwell Chambers in 2020 to earn extra income and share the food of his homeland with his new community. 

Back then, it was called Fusion Dumplings. Mr Zoubovski's preferred name, Ang Moh Dumplings, was deemed inappropriate for the refined air of the legal circuit. On the advice of a marketer, they rebranded as a Russian restaurant, Dumplings.ru, later that year. 

When Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022, however, their restaurant became a magnet for anti-Russian sentiment in Singapore. In an attempt to shake off negative comments, they pivoted again, this time highlighting their Ukrainian heritage. The restaurant was first renamed Borscht, then, fearing that was too hard to pronounce, Kapitan. 

Still, business remained turbulent. When Mr Zubovskyy started to run the restaurant full time in 2022, the situation was so bad that on some days, they had no customers during lunch. Only one table was occupied at dinner. 

Since then, he has done his best to steer his family's fortunes around. On TikTok, he dons a sailor's neckerchief and "kidnaps" strangers on the street, "forcing" them to dine at Kapitan. The humorous bit has racked up thousands - millions in some cases - of views, with comments praising his sense of humour and local accent. 

I didnt force him to say all these, he loves the food 100per cent. #fyp #favoriterestaurant #slavic

Virality brought with it a spike in business, though this wave of customers lasted only two or three months. 

"It wasn't like a big drop because now that we've got TikTok, we're constantly on people's minds. So we're still doing better than how we were doing before," says Mr Zubovskyy, who now has the happy problem of coping with a packed restaurant on weekends. But he still hopes to improve the footfall on weekdays, which remain a quieter affair. 

Remaking old school

In addition to their social media savvy, young entrepreneurs also inject new life into old-school businesses. 

At age 26, Mr Nicholas Lim is the youngest member of his family to run his own Eng Kee Chicken Wings stall. He calls the shots at the Buangkok Hawker Centre branch. 

"It's thanks to the second and third generation that we have the chance to expand this business," says his uncle Jack Lim, the 63-year-old owner of the franchise who took over the brand from his childhood friend in 2010. Eng Kee was established in 1989, and there are now nine outlets in Singapore. 

The younger Mr Lim has managed to rope in more young blood for the stall, such as his 20-year-old brother, Brendan, and a friend. And they bring more than just muscle. Mr Nicholas Lim says: "We play music during the less busy hours, and I think it helps to make the hawker centre a bit more dynamic, a bit more fun. Some of the older hawkers will come over to sing along and chat with us." 

He is also experimenting with different frying temperatures to see how he can improve the stall's signature product. Like a true digital native, he has introduced cashless forms of payment, such as Shopback, too. 

But first, he had to get the basics right after joining the family business in early 2023.

After he graduated from Nanyang Polytechnic in 2018, he dipped his toes into different industries, such as sales and delivery. However, he eventually decided to become a hawker as he could not pass up the opportunity to run his own stall.

He was trained by his uncle at the original outlet in Commonwealth. During his apprenticeship, he learnt the secrets of marinating and deep-frying chicken, and managing a team of cooks. It took a full month of honing his marinating skills before he could contribute to day-to-day operations.

His hard work has paid off. His chicken is faultlessly crisp, tender and juicy.

Getting the basics right

Mr Mohammad Asgar, the 54-year-old owner of the popular Kampong Glam teh tarik stall Bhai Sarbat, also believes his successors should master the tools of the trade before putting their own spin on things. 

Two of his three sons, 26-year-old Mohammad Zaki and 22-year-old Mohammad Gani, now help out at the Bussorah Street stall. 

His youngest, 18-year-old Mohammad Azhar, is studying electrical engineering at ITE College Central and hopes to find employment in that field.

Unlike their brother, Mr Zaki and Mr Gani, who were educated at an Islamic school in India, have no interest in academics. They prefer the work their father offers them, which they describe as fun. 

Mr Asgar, who took over as owner of the 68-year-old business in 2018 after his uncle returned to India due to illness, says: "Their teh tarik is almost as good as mine. They've got the taste, the style and the technique. The customers seem to like it too."

Since then, he has expanded the menu from 12 to a whopping 145 drinks. Aside from traditional options such as teh halia or ginger tea (from $1.80), there are also adventurous concoctions like ice-blended bandung with ice cream ($6). 

"When I retire, my sons can do whatever they want to the menu. But I hope they carry on making the traditional teh tarik at least," he says. 

Not all heritage stall proprietors are so receptive to change. 

Sandai Fishball's Mr Tan has tried to take his family's 60something-year-old business into the digital age with Instagram Reels, showing life as a young hawker. He also implemented a pre-order system on weekends, where customers place their orders via a Google form, much to the bewilderment of his father. 

"My dad thought that the pre-orders were very inconvenient because he was selling out everything by 10am. But I felt that the system would let new customers try our food. A lot of our customers are old folk who live in the area, so I'm trying to expand our client base," he says. 

His 64-year-old father was also worried that the social media posts would attract hate comments that nitpick on the way the family prepares the food. 

But they have mainly lured a new generation of followers. Mr Delonix Tan does not keep track of how many make a trip down after watching a video he posts, but says quite a few patrons mention that they first heard about the stall on Instagram or TikTok. 

Eventually, the elder Mr Tan realised that social media could boost their business, and agreed to let his son continue creating content. He also came to trust the young man, after he was satisfied that his son displayed the necessary grit to survive in the industry.  

Appetite for hard work 

His father's trust did not come easy. It took years of independent learning for the younger Mr Tan to prove his worth. 

"My parents were not supportive of my plans to become a hawker because they knew how tough the work could be," he says. 

"He did not want to teach me, so I learnt everything myself. I watched how he and my uncle did it, practised shaping a fishball and tying a plastic bag." 

His father is a man of few words, so his approval was never verbally conveyed. He did, however, start delegating tasks to his son - a sign that he had been accepted into the fold. 

Kapitan's Mr Zoubovski has mixed feelings about his son's sacrifice too. He says: "Mark is a great helper, but I'm a bit upset that he didn't go to university because I feel like it's my fault. I started this business and now my family needs to be here."

His wife and 16-year-old daughter occasionally help out at the restaurant too. 

Still, he is glad that restaurant life has whipped his son into shape. "He's matured much faster than I did at his age. He's more independent, more reliable." 

Prioritising the restaurant has meant giving up the youthful freedom that so many of his peers enjoy. But Mr Zubovskyy takes it all in his stride. Instead of heading out to meet his friends at a bar, they gather at his restaurant. His one day off a week is spent with his girlfriend. 

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Mr Lim, on the other hand, has no time to date. 

"It's not just a hard life, it's no life," he says, only half in jest, when asked how he juggles work and social life. 

He works 10 hours a day in a pressure-cooker environment where incompetence is punished by more than just dissatisfied customers and dwindling sales. "I need to make sure I'm on top of things. If not I won't gain the respect of my workers, especially the older ones who have more experience than me. In this industry, you have to lead by example. Words just don't cut it." 

His work does not end when the shutters are drawn at 8pm. Once home, he has to settle backend tasks, such as ordering stocks, tabling the accounts and manpower issues. He hits the sack at around midnight.

But after the trial by fire of his early months as a hawker, he revels in his hard-won responsibility. "I see people my age enjoying their life, travelling and spending time with loved ones. But my priority is the stall. It's my baby and it's in my hands," he says.

Still, it can be a lonely road, as Sandai Fishball's Mr Tan discovered. He now finds solace in the friends he made at industry networking sessions. "We usually go for a couple of beers once in a while. It's nice to have friends who understand what I'm going through. They encourage me too. I think that if they can do it, so can I." 

While busy days take their toll, slower business brings its fair share of stress too. 

Bhai Sarbat, where 70 per cent of customers are tourists, is still recovering from the aftershocks of the Covid-19 pandemic. "Before Covid-19, I could serve up to 2,000 cups of tea a day. Now it's around 1,000," says Mr Asgar. 

"We used to be busy all the time, but now we get a lot of customers only on weekends," adds Mr Zaki, who joined his father at the stall in 2016. 

Though he gets an easier shift on weekdays, it also leaves him feeling a bit bored.  

He enjoys the work and demonstrating his tea-pulling prowess, and has ambitions to take his father's business to the next level. 

"I hope to open a restaurant in the future. I think that would be more exciting," he says. 

A living legacy 

With these trade-offs, it is easy to understand why a job in the food and beverage industry might not be to the taste of most Gen Z Singaporeans. 

A 2024 survey by consulting firm Deloitte found that work-life balance remains the top priority for Gen Zs and millennials worldwide when picking a job. 

But finding a larger purpose is also crucial, with 89 per cent of Gen Z respondents in Singapore indicating that it is key to their workplace satisfaction and well-being. And that is something these Gen Z hawkers and restaurateurs have in spades. 

Mr Tan, for one, is clear about his goal. "What I'm selling is heritage, authenticity and tradition. I don't want to change it up too much or try to make it cool. What we lack in our hawker food now is simplicity. If Singaporeans have been enjoying fishballs for generations, why fix it?" 

Mr Lim adds: "People say the hawker is a dying trade, but it'll die only if we don't get support of other young Singaporeans." 

To that end, the Government has rolled out initiatives such as the Hawker Succession Scheme in a bid to preserve the nation's culinary heritage. But in the last two years, just seven hawkers have joined the scheme, which pairs veteran hawkers with aspiring successors outside their family. 

Retiring hawkers who spoke to The Straits Times in May said that they were reluctant to hand their recipes, painstakingly honed over decades, to strangers without sufficient remuneration, while young entrants preferred to build their own businesses from scratch. 

Assistant Professor Kim Soojin, from NTU's School of Social Sciences, suggests finding ways to give local chefs more opportunities and exposure overseas, perhaps by sending them to festivals or competitions. This could potentially make the industry more attractive to young entrants. 

Cookbook author Pamelia Chia - who writes Singapore Noodles, a newsletter on the island's food heritage - says the authorities should try to entice young Singaporeans to join the trade in other ways. 

"A more effective approach could be to set up a hawker academy, where the hawkers can teach their skills to a wider audience, not just one person," says the 33-year-old, who also teaches private cooking classes. 

She adds that beyond recognising the efforts of hawkers - through hawker culture's inscription on the Unesco Intangible Cultural Heritage list, for instance - more needs to be done to augment the financial viability and prestige of such work. 

"There seems to be a disconnect between respecting hawkers as a whole and as individuals. There are still many stereotypes we need to unpack as a society in order to understand that blue-collared workers are just as important and respectable as white-collared ones."

This article was first published in The Straits Times. Permission required for reproduction.