Even as millennials swap supper for self-care, there’s a sense of nostalgia for the era of freewheeling, unscheduled late-night chow, says writer Karen Tee. SINGAPORE: Back in the glory days of the Y2K era, a night out did not end when the club lights came on. After hours of dancing at Zouk or The Butter Factory, we would pile into taxis, mascara smudged and heels dangling off fingers, ravenous for a greasy, comforting end to the night. Supper was a post-party non-negotiable. Some nights it was