Greek Honey Cake Recipe: My Coziest Dessert Tradition

Cake That Tastes Like Summer in Greece (But, You Know, From My Kitchen)

Look, I have a soft spot for cakes that taste like holidays. This Greek Honey Cake is the one I break out when I need a confidence boost in the kitchen—or just want to make the house smell like cinnamon and sweet, toasty dreams. The first time I baked it, my attempt at whisking the batter looked more like a mud pie situation; somehow, it turned out perfect once all the honey soaked in. Oh, and if you’re wondering, this is the cake my dad always tries (unsuccessfully) to hide from everyone else. Can’t blame him, honestly.

Why I Keep Coming Back to This Cake

Alright, here’s the deal. I make Greek Honey Cake when people beg me for something not chocolate (yes, those people exist). My family flips for it because it tastes like baklava’s fluffier, less fussy cousin—especially when the syrup drizzles into those little crevices. I even bring it to work sometimes, though it’s a pain carrying in a cake box on the subway. (Side note: It’s pretty forgiving if you overbake just a smidge—that’s a lifesaver for me because I inevitably get distracted washing up halfway through.)

What You’ll Need (Don’t Get Too Hung Up If You’re Missing a Thing or Two…)

• 1 cup all-purpose flour (sometimes I sneak in half whole wheat if I’m feeling wild—tastes nutty)
• 1/2 cup semolina flour (my Yiayia swears by Bob’s Red Mill, but whatever’s handy, really)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda (if you forget, it’s not the end of the world)
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• Pinch of salt (I just use a quick shake, never measure)
• 3 large eggs, room temp (if you forget to take them out, just run them under warm tap water for a bit)
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup plain Greek yogurt (the full-fat one tastes best, though 2% works)
• 1/2 cup olive oil (light works, but extra virgin is what I usually have—makes it fragrant)
• 1/2 cup honey (try a dark, wildflower one, or honestly, I’ve even used the bear-shaped bottle stuff in a pinch)
• Zest of half an orange (or toss in lemon if that’s all you have)
• A handful of chopped walnuts (optional but they make it taste kind of fancy)

Let’s Get Baking (And Maybe Make a Bit of a Mess)

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease an 8-inch cake pan; I just use whatever oil I poured into the batter. Lining the bottom with baking paper makes life easier but, ah, I’ve skipped it before without disaster—just needed extra patience getting the cake out.
2. Mix your flour, semolina, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt in a big bowl. Don’t freak out if a tablespoon of flour puffs into the air; that’s part of the fun (sort of).
3. In another bowl, beat eggs and sugar together until they look pale. I used to think you had to do this forever, but really just a couple mins until it’s foamy is fine.
4. Add yogurt, olive oil, honey, and orange zest to the egg mix. Whisk it together—you might get a bit of resistance from the honey, but it’ll smooth out. This is where I usually sneak a little taste, though it’s all raw at this point, so maybe just wait if you’re squeamish!
5. Fold the wet ingredients into your flour mixture. It’ll look lumpy at first (don’t worry, that’s normal—mine always does), but after a dozen gentle stirs it’s all fine.
6. Gently fold in chopped walnuts if you want that little extra crunch.
7. Pour the batter into your pan. Try and get it all out—a rubber spatula is gold for this—even if some always seems to stick in the bottom (or maybe that’s just me?).
8. Bake for about 30–35 minutes. I tell myself I’ll just check emails but end up watching it through the oven door. It’s done when the top springs back and a toothpick comes out more or less clean, but not bone-dry.
9. While your cake is baking, make the syrup: Gently heat 1/3 cup honey, 1/3 cup water, squeeze of lemon juice, and 1 tablespoon sugar (optional) together til the honey melts in; simmer for just 2 mins because if you forget and boil it forever, it’ll get weird and sticky.
10. As soon as the cake is out (it’ll smell like happiness), poke it all over with a fork or skewer then slowly (really, go slow here) pour the syrup on top. Watch it soak in—it’s oddly mesmerising.
11. Let the cake cool completely before digging in if you can stand to wait, but, if I’m being honest, I eat a warm corner almost every time.

If You Take One Thing Away from Me, Let It Be These Notes

• I used to skip the orange zest, but actually, I find it brings everything together (who knew?)
• If the syrup seems like way too much, don’t panic—by morning, it’s all perfectly absorbed (assuming no one’s snuck extra slices overnight, which, let’s be real, happens)
• Don’t over-mix or the cake gets tough; learned that the hard way
• If it sinks a little bit in the middle, just dust with powdered sugar—it looks rustic, and, anyway, no one ever complains
• Baking on a humid day? Sometimes it takes longer. Just check with a toothpick

How I’ve Mixed Things Up (& When It Totally Flopped)

• I tried adding raisins once—tasted pretty good, but they sank (might toss them in flour first?)
• Replacing walnuts with pistachios is epic—gives it a Greek baklava twist, though the green looks odd but tasty
• Swapping half the honey for maple syrup… eh, it was okay, but lost some of that classic vibe
• I mistakenly used cake flour instead of semolina once; don’t recommend—texture just isn’t right
• A friend of mine adds rosewater—honestly, not my thing, but people seem to love it

No Fancy Tools? That’s Alright!

I use a hand whisk and a regular mixing bowl, but, honestly, I’ve stirred this with a wooden spoon when my whisk was in the dishwasher. Cake pan is handy, but I’ve made it in a rectangular baking dish and just cut clunky squares. Life’s too short to wait for your perfect cake tin.

Here’s How I Keep It Fresh (Not That It Sticks Around)

Once cool, I just stick the cake under an upturned bowl or wrapped in foil on the counter. Stays moist for 2–3 days, probably longer in winter (though honestly, in my house it never lasts past day one, especially with late-night snackers). It refrigerates fine, but let it come to room temp before serving. Don’t freeze—the syrup gets weird.

Serving Up Greek Honey Cake (My Way, Anyway)

This cake’s gorgeous plain, but sometimes I scatter a little extra cinnamon over the top, or—on birthdays—a scoop of thick Greek yogurt and a drizzle more honey. My kids dunk it into coffee or chai (and argue about who gets the crunchy walnut edges). Oh, I saw someone do pistachio ice cream on the side once and now I can’t unthink it; might have to try that myself soon.

Pro Tips—Or, the Things I’ve Messed Up So You Don’t Have To

• Don’t pour syrup onto the cake while it’s still in the oven (yeah, I did that once—the bottom crisped up like caramel, which was kind of nice, but also a cleaning nightmare)
• Letting the syrup cool down too much before pouring makes it sit on top and go sticky—definitely pour while both are warm
• I once thought more honey would mean more flavor but, phew, it practically turned into candy—stick to the recipe here
• And, for the love of all things sweet, don’t skip letting it cool. Warm cake plus lots of syrup = crumb explosions and sticky hands everywhere!

You Asked, I Answered (Or, The FAQ Bit)

• Can I use only all-purpose flour? Absolutely, just sub out semolina and it’ll be a bit less crumbly but still lovely.
• Is the yogurt essential? Actually, it keeps things moist, but a dash of milk with a squeeze of lemon works in a pinch—learned that form a friend’s fridge-empty disaster.
• What’s the best honey to use? I tend to use whatever’s on sale, but darker raw honey (like these recs from Serious Eats) has a bolder, richer taste. Don’t overthink it though!
• Is this cake very sweet? Not tooth-achingly so, especially with the tang from the yogurt; you could cut the sugar but I’d keep the syrup as is.
• Can I make it ahead? Oh, yes! I actually think it tastes better the day after, once the flavors show up properly. Wrap it well so it doesn’t dry out.
• Where did you first try this? Funny story: a friend’s housewarming, where her uncle popped up with this giant pan of honey cake—total star of the show. I stole the recipe (with permission!).
• For more on honey cakes in general (and a really elaborate history), I learned a lot from GreekBoston’s honey cake guide.

If you’ve read this far, congrats, you now know way more than you needed to about my trials with Greek Honey Cake. I’d say take the recipe and make it your own—maybe with an experimental twist or two, or just as your new lazy Sunday treat. And if it flops, eh, you’ve probably still got syrupy crumbs to munch on. Thanks for coming on this slightly chaotic baking ride with me!