I don't eat much candy—unless it is not American, in which case I am all about it. In 2026 I staged a deliberately unscientific taste test of nearly 30 Norwegian and Swedish classics from Freia, Nidar, Brynild Gruppen and a few Swedish ringers, using a stash that a very patient candy mule hauled across the Atlantic. My inner five-year-old was thrilled. My taste buds filed a complaint after the salty licorice.

The headline is simple: Nordic candy still punches above its weight. Global trends may chase sour dust, spicy heat and protein-packed novelty, but Norway's classics are doing their own thing—creamy chocolate, salty crunch, chewy gummies and licorice that separates the brave from the rest of us. Here is my 2026 field report, with all the salt, sugar and side-eye that implies.

The chocolate heavy hitters

Freia's Melkesjokolade is the creamy, sweet benchmark—the most popular chocolate in Norway, still sold as 'a little piece of Norway.' My favorite, though, is Walters Mandler: milk chocolate studded with chopped caramelized, salted, roasted almonds. The salt is the star, but the almonds and chocolate are not exactly slacking either. Walters No. 156, with caramelized pecans and a hint of chili, is good and leaves a slight heat at the back of the throat, but it does not beat the almond bar.

Kvikk Lunsj is the icon—over 70 years old, tied to outdoor life, and basically Norway's better-tasting answer to a Kit Kat. I am biased, sure, but the crisp wafer fingers are a slam dunk. The sea-salt Kvikk Lunsj bar is another winner; salt is melkesjokolade's friend, full stop.

Crunch, salt and old-school charm

Nidar's Smash is on another level of awesome. It combines chocolate, salt and crunch, but with less chocolate and more salt and crunch. It is basically Bugles covered in chocolate, and I have no idea why that is not a global snack. Even our chocolate-averse intern Will liked it. If I lived in Norway I would eat buckets of this.

Freia introduced Mandelstang in 1897—a simple bar of fondant covered in dark chocolate and crushed almonds. The chocolate and almonds balance out the fondant quite well. Japp, released by Freia in 1949 after a Swedish sibling launched it in 1947, is caramel and chocolate nougat coated in chocolate. It looks like a Mars bar, and the packaging is almost identical, but the name has a strange wartime origin: American slang for Japanese people, with the final 's' changed to a 'p.' Why they thought that was fitting, I have no idea.

Lohengrin is dark chocolate filled with rum cream, dating back to 1911, when it was sold at the National Theater for the opera's premiere. The rose design at each end nods to Art Nouveau and Norwegian dragon style; today it is simplified. The dark chocolate and rum combo is aimed at adult tastes, and my palate is apparently still wearing a hoodie.

Hobby, released by Nidar in 1973, is a foamy marshmallow layer topped with banana-flavored jelly and coated in chocolate. Intern Shell loved it. Intern Haley hated it. I felt indifferent—the foam and jelly combo did not grab me. Stratos is chocolate with air bubbles, like an Aero bar, released in 1936 and now Norway's fifth-largest chocolate brand. If you like air in your chocolate, this is your bar. Gullbrød is a flattened marzipan log coated in chocolate—simple, not too sweet, and Nidar's oldest chocolate bar, from 1915. Non-Stop looks like flat M&Ms, but the candy coating is fruit-flavored in six colors and flavors. Kenji called them 'like if Skittles and M&Ms had a baby.' The chocolate is less sweet, and after a 250-gram bag I warmed up to them.

Bamsemums, roughly 'bear snacks,' are chubby bear-shaped marshmallow candies in chocolate. I was surprised by how much I liked them—soft, slightly chewy, creamy and not too sweet. Smil are caramel-filled Freia chocolate nubs; too sweet for me, and the caramel did not win me over.

Licorice: the great divide

Salty licorice gets the shaft in this piece because nobody in my circle likes it. It is an acquired taste—or completely an acquired taste. Dunder Salt tastes like what it looks like: poisonous moldy-green pebbles with extra salt. It is easy to find in Norway and Sweden, and a rough survey of Nordic friends told me people actually enjoy it. My weak American palate and the interns' palates disagreed. The ingredients include sugar, glucose syrup, licorice, ammonium chloride and color E153; ammonium chloride is where the name salmiak comes from. Troll-Gott, based in Årjäng, Sweden, makes it, and the package troll is based on the Årjängtroll statue in town. I like the troll. I cannot get behind the candy.

Salt Sild, a chewy-tacky fish-shaped licorice jelly coated in ammonium chloride, is even worse for me. The ammonium chloride kills any sugar and mixes with the licorice into something gag-y. A vaguely boat-shaped licorice gummy made by Nidar since 1983 is far less offensive because it lacks salt; right after Salt Sild, I actually liked it. I do not like licorice, so that is a thankful change. IFA licorice has been made since 1930, now by Nidar, and is named after Ivar F. Andresen, a famous Norwegian opera singer. The box features his face and signature, plus a quote about preventing dryness of the throat and larynx—recommended for singers, orators, smokers and sportsmen. It is salty but not as offensive as Salt Sild, and yes, there is also a straight-up ammonia-enhanced salmiakk version.

Chewy, foamy and Swedish

Ahlgrens Bilar, made in Sweden since 1953, are foamy, chewy car-shaped candies that call themselves 'Sweden's most popular car.' They do not necessarily taste great, but the texture is pleasant and not too sweet, so you can eat a ton without thinking. Zoo is like Swedish Fish but shaped like sitting monkeys and tastes worse—bubblegum-flavored, sort of stale even when fresh, and not pleasantly bouncy. Fox Citron is a soft lemon-flavored taffy; Malaco's 'caramel' description is apparently a translation issue, since kola means a chewy caramel-like consistency. It was first made in Norway in 1935.

Laban Seigmenn, made by Nidar since 1965, are sugar-coated fruit gummies with a light, softly chewy-bouncy texture. They use natural colors and flavors, and they were one of our favorite Norwegian candies. There are female, sour and salty licorice versions too. Smørbukk is a Nidar caramel from 1935, named after a fairy-tale character who eats too much butter—Butterball in English. Our batch tasted a bit stale, probably because we waited too long. Brynild's Gomp comes in fruit pastilles and wild berry; the fruit pastilles were forgettable jelly beans, while the wild berry tiny gummies in a Nerds-like shell fared better. Each box shows the Gomp chicken mascot doing different activities—roller skating, hiking, masked superhero work, computer stuff. Normal Norwegian chicken things.

Dent's small throat lozenges have been around since 1975. The eucalyptus flavor is like mouthwash, and the texture is gummy-ish but not chewy—hardy enough to suck on, but I wanted to chew. Brynild's Gul Kamfer throat drops taste like nasal-clearing peppermint, and my Norwegian friends assure me it is a very old candy.

Finally, Daim: chocolate-covered buttery almond toffee, developed in Sweden in 1952 and popular in Norway since 1953. I mostly think of it as the candy bar I buy at IKEA, but it deserves better than that. It descends from the American Heath bar, and Hershey's Skor is similar. A side-by-side taste test is clearly in order. Yes, yes it is.

The 2026 takeaway? Freia and Nidar still rule the roost, salt is chocolate's best friend, and salty licorice remains a bouncer at the door of my palate. I will keep sharing 200-gram bars. Sometimes. Maybe.