So… Why Orange Ginger Honey Cakes?

You know, a few years back, I stumbled upon this recipe while cleaning out the old recipe drawer (which is technically just a slightly-bent pile of random note cards and clippings stuffed behind the flour canister, let’s be honest). I had a mountain of oranges that were about to walk away on their own, and this was my ticket. The best bit? Every single time I bake these Orange Ginger Honey Cakes, the house fills up with this zingy, citrusy, honey-warm smell that lets everyone know they’d better be ready to pounce as soon as they come out of the oven. Oh, and full disclosure: my first batch was a bit sunken, because apparently baking powder isn’t optional (don’t be like me). If you’re after something fuss-free (and don’t mind sticky fingers), these cakes are for you.

Why You’ll Love This (No, Really)

I make this whenever I need to impress someone with minimal effort or when my family is, how shall I put it, climbing the walls for a sweet treat. My sister claims she can smell the ginger from down the street (she’s possibly part bloodhound). And, if I’m honest, I’ve made these for breakfast more than once when I could have just done cereal—but there’s something about that hit of orange and honey that makes you feel fancier than you probably are. Plus, when I couldn’t find a zester and tried to use a cheese grater, well, let’s just say it worked… sort of. So don’t sweat the small stuff.

What You’ll Need (Give or Take)

2 cups plain flour (sometimes I chuck in a handful of wholewheat for “health” – who am I kidding?)
1.5 tsp baking powder (if you forget this, you’ll end up with orange ginger honey pancakes… which, actually, not terrible)
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp ground ginger (or fresh grated, if you’re feeling posh, but be careful, it’s got a kick if you overdo it)
Zest from 2 oranges (my grandmother swore by Seville oranges, but honestly, whatever’s rolling around in your fruit bowl works)
3/4 cup runny honey (If you’re out, agave’ll do, or maple syrup in a pinch though it’s sweeter)
2/3 cup unsalted butter, melted (I’ve used olive oil before, it’s not the same, but it’ll do)
2 eggs (room temp, or just warm them up in your armpit, kidding… sort of)
1/2 cup plain Greek yogurt (or sour cream—have even subbed creme fraiche once, and hey, it still tasted lovely)
1/2 cup orange juice (fresh, boxed, whatever, nobody’ll know)
Optional: handful of chopped crystallized ginger for a surprise bite (highly recommend if you like a little zing)

How to Actually Make Them (And a Few Sidetracks)

First, preheat your oven to 180°C (350°F). I always forget this step until I’m halfway mixing—so if you have, just crank it up now; it’ll catch up.
Grab a mixing bowl and dump in your flour, baking powder, salt, and ginger. Give it a good stir (sometimes I get bored and use a whisk, but a fork works fine too).
In another bowl (or honestly, a big jug if all your bowls are dirty), whisk together the butter, honey, eggs, yogurt, orange juice, and zest. Don’t worry if it looks a bit lumpy—mine always does and they still turn out fab.
This is where I usually sneak a taste—egg safety advisory etc., but live a little. Mix your wet and dry ingredients together until just combined. If you add the crystallized ginger, fold it in gently.
Spoon (or, if you’re me, ladle) the batter into whatever you fancy—cupcake tins, muffin molds, or a small loaf pan lined with parchment. Pro-tip: I learned the hard way not to fill them too high; they rise more than you think.
Bake for about 20-25 mins. Start checking after 18; ovens are funny and sometimes a wonky temp gauge will trick you. If a cake tester (or toothpick or, let’s be honest, a bit of uncooked spaghetti) comes out clean, they’re ready.
Let cool for five min, although nobody in my house has lasted the full five. Don’t burn your tongue, that’s all I’ll say.
Drizzle a bit more honey on top if you’re feeling fancy. Or just eat them straight out of the tin (I’ve done both, zero shame).

Notes and Realizations (Some Baked In Mistakes)

Once, I forgot the yogurt and just used milk. The cakes were drier but, honestly, still edible. Just up the honey a bit if you do this.
Peeling the oranges first might seem clever (save zesting time!), but trust me: it’s a sticky mess. Zest whole, then juice.

Things I’ve Tried (Some Good, One Not So Much)

Added a handful of walnuts for crunch—my dad approved. Pistachios are also snazzy.
Swapped honey for golden syrup once. Did not love, a bit too sweet and weirdly sticky.
Lemon instead of orange? Actually, not too bad but feels like a different cake. Still, lemon and ginger are mates.

Gear You’ll (Probably) Need

Muffin or cupcake pan (or honestly, even a pyrex dish in a jam, just adjust the baking time)
Mixing bowls (old ice cream containers work if your bowls are “busy”… don’t @ me)
Whisk or fork or, ahem, a clean hand—no judgment.
Cooling rack handy, but I just put mine on the back of a chopping board

How to Store ‘Em (Hint: They Disappear Fast)

Sealed tin or box, they’ll keep two, maybe three days. But honestly, in my house these cakes vanish. Next day, just zap in the microwave for 8 seconds; they’re good as gold. If you freeze them, wrap well—nobody likes freezer burn. For way more nerdy storage tips, check out King Arthur Baking’s storage guide.

Serving Them Up (My Way, Anyway)

I love these slightly warm, with an extra blob of yogurt on top and a cheeky sprinkle of extra zest. My cousin swears by them with vanilla ice cream (more of a dessert person, less of a breakfast person). Sometimes we eat them in the garden if it’s not tipping down with rain; that always feels very continental, somehow. Oh, once I tried drizzling with a bit of blood orange glaze like this—it worked a treat.

Hard-Learned Pro Tips

Bake them the full time. I once tried speeding things up on a higher temp and wound up with outsides like cricket balls, insides like pudding. Don’t be me.
Actually, let them cool ten minutes… or at least five. They hold together better and you won’t burn your lips (again, speaking from, um, experience).
If the batter looks too thick, just splash in more juice. As long as it’s not actual soup, it’ll work out.

Your Burning Questions (I’ve Heard ‘Em All)

Can I make these vegan? Yes, you can! Sub out the eggs for a flax “egg” (that’s 1 tbsp ground flaxseed + 2.5 tbsp water per egg, if you were wondering), and use coconut yogurt and plant-based butter. Result is a touch denser, but I actually quite like it.
How orangey is it, really? Well, if you bung in loads of zest and use fresh juice, it absolutely sings, but if you’re low on oranges, dial up the ginger and you can balance it with a dash of vanilla.
Can I freeze them? Absolutely; wrap ‘em well, maybe double bag if your freezer’s a bit neglected like mine.
What if I only have self-raising flour? Just skip the baking powder, but judge the texture—it’s a little finickier but works. (Guess how I found this out!)

And hey, if you want to nerd out about flour types, this Serious Eats flour guide is pretty entertaining. On a totally unrelated note, did you know that oranges were once almost exclusively grown for their blossoms, not the fruit? Mad world. But I digress.

Hope you give these cakes a go. If it all flops, just remember—it’s probably still delicious with a bit of ice cream. And truly, who’s judging? Not me, mate.

Delightful Orange Ginger Honey Cakes: My Cozy Home Bake