For one British family newly settled in Malmö, Sweden, their first December abroad transformed into a delicate dance of diplomacy, centred not on politics but on pigs in blankets versus pickled herring. The festive season, meant to be a time of joy, instead became a series of "friendly but fierce negotiations" between a mother clinging to UK traditions and a husband determined to embrace Swedish 'Jul' wholeheartedly.
The Baltic Standoff: A Failed Dip and Festive Friction
The cultural clash reached its chilly peak on Christmas Eve at 3pm by the Baltic Sea. As Kerry, the mother, prepared for a traditional Swedish winter swim, her resolve was shattered by the sight of a naked, Viking-esque man emerging from the icy water with a look of pure horror. Retreating, she bundled her five layers back on, a symbolic surrender in her quest to master local customs. This moment crystallised the broader tension within their home: while her husband aimed to be "more Swedish than the Swedes," Kerry was desperate to anchor their five-year-old son with familiar British rituals.
Negotiating the Festive Menu: Bisto vs. Herring
The battleground extended to the dinner table. Kerry embarked on a pilgrimage to Malmö's Taste of Britain shop, seeking Bisto gravy and overpriced Christmas crackers. For her, roast potatoes and Christmas cake were non-negotiable elements of the holiday. Her husband, however, championed a full Swedish spread: Jansson's temptation (a creamy potato and anchovy gratin), gravlax, fermented herring, roe, and a large Christmas ham. Despite protests that the family weren't ardent fish fans, his stance was firm: Christmas was now Jul.
The differences permeated every aspect of the season. Their son queued to meet a taciturn Tomte—a grumpy house elf—instead of a jolly Santa. Weekend trips to Christmas markets offered hotdogs and pepparkakor (gingersnaps), not mince pies. The family faced the classic expat dilemma: assimilate quickly or preserve a comforting piece of home.
A Lucia Day Revelation and a Dual Celebration
The breakthrough came on 13 December, Lucia Day, a festival of light. During a heartfelt conversation, her husband, who had moved from London to Switzerland as a child, revealed his own experience of feeling out of place. He wanted their son to assimilate seamlessly. Kerry, who grew up with few happy Christmas memories in homeless hostels and council flats across Scotland and England, yearned to create the perfect, festive childhood she'd always imagined.
Realising both simply wanted a magical Christmas for their boy, they devised a brilliant compromise: they would do it all. The table would groan with both sprouts and herring. They would watch both The Snowman and the Swedish staple, Kalle Anka och hans vänner önskar God Jul (a 1958 Donald Duck cartoon). They would supersize the celebrations, embracing excess in a unique Scots-Swedish style.
This year, Kerry plans to finally take that Baltic swim—and also pay a premium for a tub of Twiglets and an imported Radio Times. Their identity, like their holiday, is now a blend. They are not quite Swedish, no longer purely British, but their Christmas will be as uniquely sweet and shiny as a box of Quality Street—a truly cool Jul for the whole family.
