There are certain cakes that belong to particular moods, and Guinness cake is undeniably one of them. I tend to bake it on afternoons when the sky looks all gloomy, ominous and grey, when the house feels draftier than usual and the neighbour’s cat is sulking on the fence for reasons known only to him. It’s the kind of day that calls for something dark, deep and reassuring: a cake that feels less as much a treat as it is sustenance. Comfort food? No, call it Comfort Cake.

Having been to Dublin a couple of times, it's one of my favourite cities in the world. And not just because of the good craic and the people. It's because Guinness runs through the city's arteries.

I've been to the Guinness Storehouse on each visit and it's fantastic EACH time. Recently, I went with the bestie. We’d wandered through the Storehouse, letting the history of the black stuff wash over us in its glossy, immersive way; split the G on the best pint anyone can ever have up at the top, and stocked up on all the merch on the way out.

So when knocking back a pint feels a bit...too premature, say at noon, you know what doesn't? Baking. Pour the stout into a saucepan, warm it up till frothy, releasing an aroma that's kind of chocolatey: toasty, faintly bitter, decidedly grown-up. It fills the kitchen in the way good smells do, making the house feel like a home.

Now back to the weather. Overhead, the sky is a sulky gloomy grey. The kind that makes you want to switch the kettle on even before you’ve taken off your coat. In short, perfect cake weather. And the perfect cake for perfect cake weather is? You guessed it. Guinness cake.

The quiet magic of Guinness cake

Guinness cake is, at heart, a chocolate cake - but calling it that feels inadequate, like describing lobster as a big prawn. Almost rude.

This is a cake with body, deep and dark, lifted by the gentle acidity of stout. The ingredients themselves are familiar, almost homely with sour cream or yoghurt; it’s their baking chemistry that makes something unexpectedly rich.

People often ask what Guinness cake tastes like. They brace themselves for something aggressive, bitter and beery, but stout in baking behaves differently. Heat removes the sharpness of alcohol, leaving depth: the kind you find in very good dark chocolate or a well-made coffee. Warmth, a little bitterness, malty sweetness, like what's not to love about this flavour profile?!

The frosting completes it - a thick cloak of cream cheese frosting, pale and soft, sweet and tangy. Without it, the cake feels unfinished and barren. 

But what about the alcohol?

Questions inevitably bubble up.
Does it cook off?
Mostly - around three quarters, often more. What remains is flavour rather than force. Guinness 0.0% also works a treat!

Can children eat it?
They can, if you’re comfortable with that. The alcohol is negligible once baked, though I’d think twice before taking it to a school fete, if only to avoid the murmurs it might arouse in the mummy WhatsApp groups. Some cakes prompt nostalgia; others spark small scandals.

Is Guinness cake truly Irish?

Not in the folkloric sense, no ancient stories of stout-spiked sponge passed down through centuries. But Guinness is so entwined with Irish identity that baking with it feels entirely natural.

It appears at St Patrick’s Day celebrations, at weddings for those who prefer something dark and unconventional, and in homes where substance is valued over show. It is Irish in the way Irish coffee is: warm, substantial and fun.

A texture that feels like comfort itself

More than the flavour, it’s the texture that stays with you. The crumb is plush, dense and velvety rather than light and fragile. It slices up neatly and obediently and stays tender for days.

(If you’d rather skip the baking altogether, our own version is here - dark, plush and properly grown-up: Order a Guinness Cake)

How long does it last?
Four to five days if wrapped well, though Guinness cake has a habit of disappearing in thin, plausible slices as people tuck in for "just one more sliver".

Like many comfortable things, stew, soup, the comfy jumper...it’s even better the next day. There's never been a cake that ages better.

A cake for grey afternoons and quiet victories

Guinness cake isn’t a showstopper in the contemporary sense. It doesn’t drip or glitter or arrive tall and statuesque. Instead, it offers comfort and wholesome warmth. It's also a  reminder that some of the best things we bake aren’t the flashiest, but the ones that don't need to work hard to taste banging, with depth and flavour and the faintest hint of darkness.