When the World Developed a Taste for Swedish Candy

At 75, Lars Pålsson is still the first to arrive at the candy factory in Vellinge. While the phenomenon of “Swedish candy” explodes on TikTok and in specialty stores around the world, Scandi Candy continues to work exactly as it always has—without campaigns, hype, or shortcuts.

A shrill ringtone at full volume makes us jump at the conference table. The sound comes from Lars Pålsson’s phone, which is constantly ringing—almost in sync with the machines in the candy factory next door.
He always answers himself. At least when he can. Lars is not easy to reach, something I experienced firsthand while trying to schedule today’s visit to the factory in Vellinge.

“I tried having a personal assistant take the calls,” he says. “But it didn’t help—quite the opposite. I just ended up with a list of people to call back, and it took twice as long to get hold of anyone. Now I try to catch people when they call.”

A Beloved Figure with Many Names

He has been called Skåne’s candy king and Sweden’s Willy Wonka. Lars takes it in stride.
“I don’t mind being called Skåne’s candy king, but most often I hear ‘the liquorice guy,’” he says with a wry smile.

Behind the nicknames is Scandi Candy, the factory Lars founded in 2002 after many years in the industry. Here, candy is produced—much of it liquorice—often built up in multiple stages with fillings and coatings, where flavours meet in unexpected combinations.

The journey began long before Scandi Candy existed. Lars entered the confectionery business in 1983, starting at Fazer, where he stayed for nearly a decade before moving on to Malaco in 1992. Those years gave him deep experience of production, machinery, and processes—knowledge embedded as much in his hands as in his head.

When Malaco shut down its Malmö operations in 2001, Lars spent a short period in Denmark helping build a new packaging unit. Then came a decisive moment.
“I felt I wanted to do it myself. Not take over something, not inherit—build from scratch.”

Starting Without a Safety Net

Scandi Candy was founded in 2002 in Vellinge under modest conditions. Capital was limited, the premises were rented, and the early years were more about keeping things running than about growth. Machines were bought second‑hand—some had been idle for decades—and rebuilt by hand. The bank remained sceptical for a long time, and the factory quickly became too small.

“We had no cash flow at all, so we had to move very cautiously. People said, ‘You need a truck. You need insurance.’ But I said: stop—we need to sell something first. Otherwise none of it matters.”

Over time, two business partners remained at Lars’s side, a constellation intact since 2008. A turning point came after a chance meeting at an export event—the right person, the right questions, the right moment. Within days, they changed banks, secured financing, and were able to take the next step with an additional factory, more space, and new machinery.

Today, Scandi Candy is an established producer with around 32 employees, two factories in the Municipality of Vellinge, and production running in multiple shifts. Each week, around 49 tonnes of candy are produced in thousands of variations—more than 100 pallets—shipped primarily to Sweden, Denmark, and the United States. In 2025, the company reported revenues of SEK 91 million.

Retirement Can Wait

This may sound like another entrepreneurial success story, but for Lars, now 75, it’s less about expansion and more about staying present. He has long passed the age when many have left working life behind, but for him, work has never had a clear end date.

“People sometimes ask if I’m planning to slow down.”

Formally, he has—at least on paper. Fridays are now days off.
“The rest of the week, I’m here. At least eight hours a day,” he says matter‑of‑factly.

His grandchildren, still young, have seriously wondered whether he has two homes. For Lars, the factory remains a place he returns to every day, and retirement has never become more than a question.

He no longer handles daily operations—that is now managed by others. What he has chosen to keep are the things that still require his presence: the development of factories and machinery, decisions that affect how production works in practice, and the careful adjustment of flavours until they are exactly right.

When Cheaper Becomes More Expensive

For Lars, development is not an abstract concept. It is about understanding what works—in flavour profiles, in the factory, and with customers. It is work that takes time and rests on experience.

New product ideas are tested, adjusted, and discarded—often repeatedly. Not everything makes it all the way. Selection is part of the job. So are the decisions.

The same philosophy shapes how Scandi Candy approaches price pressure. Lars offers a telling example. A popular candy mix was originally produced by Scandi Candy for another company.
When demands for lower prices increased, Lars refused to compromise on ingredients. Production was moved elsewhere. On the surface, the candy looked the same—the same shape, the same packaging—but the difference lay in flavour and texture.

The result was clear. Customers bought it once, and then stopped. Before long, it disappeared from store shelves. For Lars, it was yet another confirmation that compromising on quality rarely pays off.

“I’ve always been more interested in doing things properly than doing them fast and cheap.”

The Swedish Candy Phenomenon

In recent years, Swedish candy has gone from curiosity to export phenomenon. In the US and the UK, specialty stores selling “Swedish candy” have multiplied rapidly, driven by social media and a growing appetite for more complex flavours. TikTok feeds fill with videos of pick‑and‑mix candy poured onto kitchen tables in Brooklyn, liquorice balls dissected in close‑up, and Swedish Saturday candy explained as a cultural phenomenon in its own right.

For Lars, the development is both flattering and slightly puzzling.
“Candy abroad is often just sweet. In Sweden, we’ve been better at defining flavours. Raspberry tastes like raspberry. Yoghurt tastes like yoghurt. There’s a different flavour tradition in Swedish candy.”

Early players who helped set the tone also illustrate how Swedish candy culture has shifted in expression and audience. Malmö‑based Kolsvart has, since the early 2010s, worked with liquorice and confectionery in a pared‑down, almost austere format—far from colourful plastic bags and nostalgia.

At the other end of the spectrum is New York‑based BonBon, which opened its first store in 2018 and turned Swedish pick‑and‑mix candy into something both Instagram‑friendly and worth queuing for in Manhattan. Sour fish and salty liquorice twists suddenly became destinations.

Despite the global boom, Scandi Candy has barely changed its way of working. In fact, the company has not marketed itself at all for several years.
“The last trade fair we attended was in 2019. Since then, we haven’t done any marketing.”

“Yet demand keeps growing. New customers find us through other customers. The phone number gets passed on. The calls never really stop,” Lars says—just as the phone rings again, and he picks it up. As always.