Logo

A cake that belongs in every Greek kitchen

Walk into a Greek home on a Saturday morning and there is a good chance the oven is already on. Olive oil cake — kek me portokali kai ladi — is the quiet workhorse of Greek baking. No butter, no cream, no electric mixer required, and somehow it is still better on the third day than on the first. It is the cake that appears when neighbours drop in, when a name day needs marking, when someone is recovering from flu and needs something kind.

What makes it worth learning is how little it asks of you. The ingredients are the ones already in your cupboard: plain flour, sugar, eggs, a bottle of olive oil, an orange or two. Everything happens in one bowl with a whisk. The result is a golden, deeply fragrant cake with a tight, moist crumb and a citrus perfume that fills the kitchen before the cake is even cool.

Choosing your oil and your oranges

Olive oil is not a background ingredient here, so it pays to think about which bottle you reach for. A peppery, freshly pressed oil from a strong harvest will taste almost savoury in a cake — delicious, but a shock if you are expecting something delicate. For a first attempt, use a mild or everyday extra virgin olive oil, or blend a robust one half and half with a lighter oil. You want the fruity, grassy notes, not the throat-catching heat.

For the fruit, you need the zest of two oranges and the juice of about one and a half. Unwaxed fruit is ideal; if yours is waxed, give it a scrub under warm water. Blood oranges make a spectacular version in late winter, giving a deeper, almost raspberry edge to the crumb.

• 200 ml mild extra virgin olive oil
• 200 g caster sugar
• 3 large eggs, at room temperature
• 250 g plain flour
• 50 g fine semolina (optional, but it gives a lovely sandy texture)
• 2 level tsp baking powder
• A good pinch of fine salt
• Zest of 2 oranges, finely grated
• 150 ml fresh orange juice
• 60 ml cold water or unsweetened almond milk
• 1 tsp vanilla extract

A note on the tin: a 23 cm springform or a deep round tin, lined at the base and greased lightly with oil, not butter. The cake is delicate when warm, so a removable base saves a great deal of swearing.

Mixing it: the method that actually matters

Heat the oven to 180°C (160°C fan, gas mark 4). Whisk the eggs and sugar together for a full two minutes until pale and thickened — this is the only step worth being fussy about, because it builds the structure that replaces butter. Slowly stream in the olive oil while whisking, as though you were making mayonnaise. The mixture should look glossy and slightly thickened.

• Stir in the orange zest, juice, water and vanilla. The mixture will look curdled; ignore it.
• Fold in the flour, semolina, baking powder and salt with a spatula. Stop the moment the last streaks of flour disappear — overmixing makes a tough cake.
• Pour into the prepared tin and bake for 45–50 minutes, until deep golden and a skewer comes out with a few moist crumbs.
• Cool in the tin for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a rack.

Should you add the orange syrup?

Purists in the Peloponnese often say no. On the islands, a syrup is almost mandatory. If you want the wetter, more luxurious style, warm 100 g caster sugar with 100 ml orange juice and a strip of zest until the sugar dissolves, then simmer for two minutes. Prick the warm cake all over with a skewer and spoon the syrup over slowly, letting each addition soak in. The cake becomes heavier, stickier and more intensely orange — closer to a portokalopita in spirit.

How to serve it

In Greece this cake is eaten at all hours. With a small cup of strong Greek coffee in the morning, it is practically a breakfast food. In the afternoon it turns up alongside a bowl of thick sheep's yoghurt, perhaps with a spoonful of bitter orange or quince spoon-sweet on top. The yoghurt's acidity cuts through the oil beautifully, and the contrast of cool and warm is the whole point.

If you are serving it as a pudding, a spoonful of yoghurt and a drizzle of honey is enough. A scattering of toasted walnuts or pistachios adds crunch, and a pinch of cinnamon or mastiha in the batter gives it a distinctly Aegean accent.

Keeping, variations and troubleshooting

Stored in an airtight tin, this cake keeps for four days and actually improves on day two. It also freezes well for up to two months, wrapped tightly; defrost at room temperature and warm briefly in a low oven.

If your cake sank in the middle, the oven was probably too hot or the batter was overwhisked after the flour went in. If it tastes dry, it was baked a few minutes too long — start checking at 40 minutes. Swap 50 g of flour for ground almonds for a denser, richer version, or use lemon and a little thyme instead of orange. Whatever you do, use good oil and real fruit. That is the entire secret, and it has been for generations.