There was a time when leaving food on a plate felt almost wrong.
Growing up in Singapore, finishing every grain of rice and every last bite was more than a habit. It was a quiet expectation. Food was precious, and wasting it meant forgetting the effort behind every ingredient, every hand that prepared it.
But somewhere along the way, the way we dine started to change.
I noticed it recently while sitting at Merci Marcel Orchard, watching a table beside me slowly fill with half-finished plates, glasses of wine, and conversations that had stretched far beyond the meal itself. The ravioles, the sharing plates, the little bites passed between friends, they were not disappearing quickly. They were simply becoming part of the evening.
Maybe the best meals are not always the ones where every plate is empty.
Modern dining has become less about conquering a menu and more about creating space. We order the tartines we want to try, the French comfort dishes that catch our attention, and perhaps one dessert because someone at the table insists. Some things get finished. Some do not.
And strangely, that feels normal now.
Singapore has always been a city that celebrates abundance. From hawker centres where we debate what to order because there are too many good choices, to restaurants where sharing allows everyone to taste a little more, our relationship with food has always been about connection.
The memories we keep are rarely about the last bite we took. They are about who was sitting across from us when we took it.
A meal is no longer measured only by what disappears from the plate. Sometimes it is measured by how long we stayed, how much we laughed, and whether we left wanting to come back.
