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LIVING IN SWEDEN

What’s up with Sweden’s ice cream vans?

Anyone who's spent more than a short amount of time in Sweden will have the infamous ice cream van jingle seared into their mind – and may well have wondered exactly why the tradition is so popular in such a cold country. The Local investigates.

What's up with Sweden's ice cream vans?
Love it or hate it, the ice cream van is a tradition that's hard to ignore in Sweden. Photo: Christine Olsson/TT

Sweden’s ice cream vans or glassbilar are a bit different from the ones you might be used to. 

In countries like the US and UK, ice cream vans usually drive to one spot and stop there, where they serve ice cream in individual portions to be eaten on the spot, or they move through residential areas.

In Sweden, one company has a monopoly on ice cream vans. Ice cream manufacturer Hemglass runs a fleet of 300 trucks that drive the length and breadth of Sweden, making a total of 15,000 stops each night and selling ice cream from the back of the van rather than through a serving hatch.

The biggest difference is that, since you’re close to home and your freezer, you usually buy in bulk. You’ll usually find typically Swedish flavours, with a lot of salty liquorice and seasonal variations, like semla-flavoured ice creams around Shrove Tuesday.

The vans were first introduced in 1968, the brainchild of ice cream manufacturer Eric Ericsson and delivery worker Anders Gavlevik.

Household freezers were starting to become common in the Nordic nation, creating new possibilities for selling ice cream direct to consumers rather than only at events. According to Hemglass, the trucks were devised as a way of ensuring quality to the consumer while improving distribution. Because the ice cream is travelling directly from the factory to the consumer, it doesn’t spend any time outside the freezer, something that can cause freezer burn (crystals forming on the ice cream when the partially unfrozen dessert re-freezes).

The idea was a hit among sweet-toothed Swedes, and after taking 160 kronor on the first day, the project soon expanded fast. Today, Hemglass trucks aren’t the only ones delivering ice cream locally, but they’re the best known, and are at least as well known for their signature jingle as for their products.

Originally, their arrival to the neighbourhood was signalled by a loud bell, but in the 1980s they adopted a tune that is seared into the memory of anyone who’s spent time in Sweden. According to the company, the problem with the bell was that it sounded too similar to truck reversal alarms – leading children to run into the street just as large vehicles were reversing.

The new jingle doesn’t have that risk, but is not without its own controversies. You can listen to it here, but be warned that it won’t leave your head in a hurry. Even its composer has disavowed the jingle, saying that the company changed the melody he wrote and made it “mechanical”.

Local residents frustrated by the earworm have taken Hemglass to court on numerous occasions, but environmental courts have usually been unable to intervene as the tune isn’t loud enough to be judged as dangerous to human health.

EDITOR’S PICKS:

A sign says ‘Hemglass, stop making noise!’ in Malmö during a vandalism trial after a man damaged an ice cream van’s tyres in protest at the jingle. Photo: Drago Prvulovic/TT

However, one reader of The Local said she had been able to get her local Hemglass truck to turn down the volume after complaining to customer service when the noise kept waking up her child. In 2013, the vans in one Swedish suburb went silent and used SMS messages to alert customers to their presence after repeated noise complaints.

So what’s the secret to the enduring popularity of the vans, and can they survive?

Well, as anyone who’s ever looked at a fully stocked fridge and declared there’s “nothing to eat” knows, food just tastes better when bought on impulse. The ice cream vans tailor to the Swedish habit of myskväll, or cosy evenings at home with family, where junk food is an essential component. For some, they’ve simply become a tradition. When you hear the jingle, you drop what you’re doing and run to the van.

Mostly, it’s a question of savvy marketing. The company adapts to consumer trends, for example also offering pizza and other ready meals as well as ice cream for dogs, using loyalty schemes and making the vans available to rent at events.

As for the future, at the moment it looks bright, with several ice cream van companies reporting a big boost to sales during the coronavirus pandemic as more people stay at home.

Member comments

  1. I lived in Stockholm for five years in the seventies and never saw nor heard a single ice-cream van, so as a tradition it must be a very recent one.

    1. It’s maybe more popular (or noticeable) outside city centres. I grew up in Sweden in the 80s and 90s and heard it every other Tuesday, if I remember correctly. 🙂

      1. I lived both in Stockholm itself and in the suburb some miles out of Stockholm, and also spent quite a lot of time in small towns such as Gnesta, and not once did I ever see or hear a single ice-cream van. As I stated before, that was in the seventies. I would have noticed them if they existed then because my son was a child at the time, so ice-cream would have been a special treat for him.

        1. Interesting, thanks for sharing! As the article says, the famous (infamous…?) tune was only introduced in the 1980s, so maybe they didn’t become “a thing” until then.

  2. They are not in any way what would be considered ice cream vans in the U.S. They are more bulk frozen foods delivery vans. There’s nothing as nice as having a single frozen confection from a local van, and in the U.S. those do drive around. Always disappointing to my son when I tell him it’s not a place we can go to get a couple ice cream cones.

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FOOD AND DRINK

OPINION: Are tips in Sweden becoming the norm?

Should you tip in Sweden? Habits are changing fast thanks to new technology and a hard-pressed restaurant trade, writes James Savage.

OPINION: Are tips in Sweden becoming the norm?

The Local’s guide to tipping in Sweden is clear: tip for good service if you want to, but don’t feel the pressure: where servers in the US, for instance, rely on tips to live, waiters in Sweden have collectively bargained salaries with long vacations and generous benefits. 

But there are signs that this is changing, and the change is being accelerated by card machines. Now, many machines offer three preset gratuity percentages, usually starting with five percent and going up to fifteen or twenty. Previously they just asked the customer to fill in the total amount they wanted to pay.

This subtle change to a user interface sends a not-so-subtle message to customers: that tipping is expected and that most people are probably doing it. The button for not tipping is either a large-lettered ‘No Tip’ or a more subtle ‘Fortsätt’ or ‘Continue’ (it turns out you can continue without selecting a tip amount, but it’s not immediately clear to the user). 

I’ll confess, when I was first presented with this I was mildly irked: I usually tip if I’ve had table service, but waiting staff are treated as professionals and paid properly, guaranteed by deals with unions; menu prices are correspondingly high. The tip was a genuine token of appreciation.

But when I tweeted something to this effect (a tweet that went strangely viral), the responses I got made me think. Many people pointed out that the restaurant trade in Sweden is under enormous pressure, with rising costs, the after-effects of Covid and difficulties recruiting. And as Sweden has become more cosmopolitain, adding ten percent to the bill comes naturally to many.

Boulebar, a restaurant and bar chain with branches around Sweden and Denmark, had a longstanding policy of not accepting tips at all, reasoning that they were outdated and put diners in an uncomfortable position. But in 2021 CEO Henrik Kruse decided to change tack:

“It was a purely financial decision. We were under pressure due to Covid, and we had to keep wages down, so bringing back tips was the solution,” he said, adding that he has a collective agreement and staff also get a union bargained salary, before tips.

Yet for Kruse the new machines, with their pre-set tipping percentages, take things too far:

“We don’t use it, because it makes it even clearer that you’re asking for money. The guest should feel free not to tip. It’s more important for us that the guest feels free to tell people they’re satisfied.”

But for those restaurants that have adopted the new interfaces, the effect has been dramatic. Card processing company Kassacentralen, which was one of the first to launch this feature in Sweden, told Svenska Dagbladet this week that the feature had led to tips for the average establishment doubling, with some places seeing them rise six-fold.

Even unions are relaxed about tipping these days, perhaps understanding that they’re a significant extra income for their members. Union representatives have often in the past spoken out against tipping, arguing that the practice is demeaning to staff and that tips were spread unevenly, with staff in cafés or fast food joints getting nothing at all. But when I called the Swedish Hotel and Restaurant Union (HRF), a spokesman said that the union had no view on the practice, and it was a matter for staff, business owners and customers to decide.

So is tipping now expected in Sweden? The old advice probably still stands; waiters are still not as reliant on tips as staff in many other countries, so a lavish tip is not necessary. But as Swedes start to tip more generously, you might stick out if you leave nothing at all.

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