The Swedish bun that stole my pastry-loving heart

Let me just start by saying this: I have a weakness for pastries. Croissants, éclairs, tarts, you name it. But there’s one that’s got a permanent spot in my heart (and, let’s be honest, my hips): the semla.

If you’ve never had the pleasure, let me paint the picture. A semla is a Swedish bun, gently spiced with cardamom, sliced open and filled with a dreamy almond paste and a cloud of whipped cream. The top is popped back on like a little hat and dusted with icing sugar. It’s a bun, but it’s also so much more than that. It’s comfort, culture, and indulgence all rolled into one.

My first bite of bliss

I first discovered semlor (that’s the plural, by the way) on a trip to Stockholm a few years ago. It was February, freezing cold, and I was wandering through Gamla Stan with a red nose and numb fingers. I ducked into a café to warm up and spotted this plump, powdered bun sitting in the pastry case. It looked like a snow-capped mountain of joy. One bite and I was hooked.

There’s something magical about the combination of flavours. The cardamom in the bun gives it a gentle warmth, almost like a hug in bread form. The almond paste is rich and nutty, with just the right amount of sweetness. And the whipped cream? Well, that’s just pure indulgence.

A semla is like a Scandinavian hug disguised as a pastry

It’s not just about taste

What I love most about semlor is that they’re not just delicious – they’re meaningful. Traditionally, they’re eaten in the lead-up to Lent, especially on Shrove Tuesday (or Fettisdagen in Sweden). It’s a way to indulge before the fasting begins. But over the years, they’ve become more than just a pre-Lent treat. These days, Swedes start enjoying them as early as January, and some bakeries even sell them year-round.

There’s a lovely sense of ritual to it. Sitting down with a semla and a hot coffee on a grey winter day feels like an act of self-care. It’s a moment to pause, breathe, and enjoy something truly special.

Biting into a semla is like pressing pause on the chaos of life

Texture heaven

Now, let’s talk texture – because this is where the semla really shines. The bun is soft and slightly chewy, with that hint of cardamom giving it depth. The almond paste is thick and grainy in the best way, and the whipped cream is light and airy. Then there’s the powdered sugar on top, which adds a little crunch and sweetness with every bite. It’s like a symphony of textures, and every element plays its part perfectly.

Too many semlor, not enough willpower

Here’s the thing though: once you start, it’s hard to stop. I’ve tried making them at home (with mixed results), and I’ve hunted down the best ones in London – shoutout to the Scandinavian bakeries that keep me going through winter. But the more I eat, the more I realise I need to balance it out. My exercise bike and I have become close friends during semla season. Let’s just say, it’s a love-hate relationship.

Still, I have no regrets. Life’s too short to skip the semla. And if that means a few extra miles on the bike, so be it. I’ll pedal for pastries any day.

Variations on a theme

While I’m a bit of a purist when it comes to semlor, I do appreciate the creativity that’s popped up in recent years. Some bakeries are experimenting with different fillings – chocolate, raspberry jam, even Nutella. Others are turning them into hybrid desserts: semla wraps, semla cakes, semla milkshakes. It’s wild, but I kind of love it.

That said, nothing beats the classic. A well-made traditional semla, with just the right balance of bun, almond, and cream, is pure perfection. And yes, I will fight you on that.