In Singapore's wet markets, an ancient rhythm of commerce — the fishmonger who knows the morning's catch, the vegetable seller who remembers your allergies — is being tested by the quiet gravity of convenience. Between 2014 and 2018, the share of Singaporeans who had not visited a wet market in the past year rose from twenty-three to thirty-nine percent, a drift accelerated by the pandemic and the frictionless pull of online delivery. What is at stake is not merely a retail format but a living archive of culinary knowledge, community bonds, and cultural memory that, once lost, cannot simply be