Why Stockholm Is the Ultimate Christmas Destination

The delightful sound of clear 'dough'—a mixture of boiled sugar, water, and vinegar—being slapped onto the baking table is truly captivating. As the artisan skillfully stretches and thumps his creation onto the solid wooden surface, a satisfying clap echoes in the air, making it hard to look away. It's mesmerizing, and the sweet, minty aroma wafting around me only adds to the experience.

An unexpected ASMR moment wasn't on my Christmas-in-Stockholm checklist, but that’s exactly what I encountered at the Polkagriskokeri, arguably the most festive shop in all of Stockholm’s Gamla Stan (Old Town), where candy canes are crafted daily.

This Scandinavian city is famous for its ABBA ties and near-endless midsummer daylight. However, in winter, it tends to be overshadowed by the bustling stalls of Germany's Nuremberg’s Christkindlesmarkt or the picture-perfect Viennese Dream Christmas Market in Austria, while Stockholm enjoys a quieter tourist season.

Yet, the holiday season here is just as magical as in its southern neighbors—imagine long, dark nights that let the city’s Christmas lights dazzle (40 streets adorned with millions of LED bulbs, with Kungsträdgården offering the most stunning display), vibrant Christmas markets filled with handcrafted candles and ornaments, and extravagant shop windows showcasing unique interpretations of traditional holiday scenes that could rival Bergdorf Goodman. Plus, it's the perfect chance to indulge in one of Sweden's finest yet underrated treasures: the candy cane, known in Swedish as polkagris.

The history of the candy cane is one of both sorrow and success, intertwined with the story of Sweden’s first female entrepreneur. Born in 1824, Amalia Eriksson lost her entire family to cholera at the tender age of 10. She worked as a maid for much of her youth to make ends meet. After marrying, she faced further heartache: one of her twins was stillborn, and shortly after her surviving daughter was born, her husband also passed away.

To provide for her daughter in Gränna, about 155 miles south of Stockholm, she began baking bread and funeral sweets. According to local lore, when her daughter, Ida, caught a cold, Amalia decided to infuse a small batch of sweets with peppermint, leading to the creation of the polkagris, or candy cane. In 1857, she obtained a license to produce the candy, establishing her bakery in Gränna as Sweden's first female-owned business.

“They weren’t always shaped like canes,” shares Anna Ernemar, manager of the Polkagriskokeri shop in Stockholm’s Old Town. “Originally, they were straight like sticks.” Another local tale suggests that many Gränna residents who emigrated to the USA in the early 20th century brought the polkagris with them, eventually shaping them into a J for Jesus during Christmas. “Then someone inverted it to hang on a Christmas tree, transforming it into the candy cane,” Ernemar recounts.

You could say that Ernemar embodies the spirit of a modern-day Amalia Eriksson. Originating from Gränna, where polkagris is a thriving industry, she has dedicated her life to sweet production: “In Gränna, your first summer job is packing sweets. So when I was around 13 or 14, I spent my summer holidays doing just that. And I’ve never looked back.” After gaining experience in local sweet shops, she relocated to Stockholm to share the production process with the public, inviting visitors to watch and even try their hand at it.

I opt not to try making my own candy cane but enjoy watching others roll and twist their sticks into those iconic barber-shop stripes. Afterward, I stuff my pockets with Anna’s peppermint treats—perfect for snacking on the flight home—and stroll through the narrow, cobblestone streets of Gamla Stan toward the main square, Stortorget. In December, the air can bite so fiercely that it feels like it cuts to the bone, but fortunately, Sweden’s oldest Christmas market offers a remedy: gingerbread and glögg (mulled wine).

Amid the soft, sugary gingerbread cookies, the Swedish tradition of fika—which entails enjoying sticky pastries and coffee—and the irresistible polkagris treats, it’s surprising that the Swedes still have any teeth left. After washing it all down with a sip of glögg, I make a mental note to brush extra thoroughly tonight.

If I had the means to bring home Christmas gifts for my loved ones, I would make my way to Nordiska Kompaniet, the top department store in the city, where I could easily pack several suitcases full of stylish Swedish design treasures (and significantly lighten my wallet). The window displays here are the finest in the city: a three-story Christmas tree graces the atrium, and the grand facade sparkles with twinkling lights—it’s enough to get even me into the festive spirit, and I tend to be a bit of a secret Grinch.

Later that day, I finally find my holiday vibe at a uniquely festive brunch at the Royal Djurgården’s Cirkus theater: instead of mulled wine, we’re sipping champagne, and rather than Santa, a drag queen entertains us with sultry Christmas classics while playfully interacting with my fellow diners. This is far more enjoyable than traditional mistletoe and mass.