I am writing this column sitting in a traditional Swedish cafe, Hollandia, in the city of Malmö, while digging my fork into a Semla. I am not the only one eating Semla it seems. Around me, this cafe, established in 1903 and Malmö's oldest patisserie, is crowded. The tables are occupied mostly by old women and men, chatting incessantly and who have come here, perhaps, to relive their childhood memories. Everyone seems to be relishing a bun of Semla.


