Poke cake

It sounds like a prank, doesn’t it? Poke cake. You hear it and imagine someone prodding a perfectly decent dessert with their index finger just for the mischief of it. But no, this beloved American-born concoction is actually a clever, squishy, joy-inducing dessert that’s been poked deliberately—with a skewer, mind you, not a finger—to transform it into something spectacularly moist, gooey, and unreasonably addictive.

The poke cake first surfaced in the 1970s, when food brands were on a mission to convince the world that convenience and flavour could coexist. Enter Jell-O. Yes, that wobbling icon of retro cuisine. General Foods (which owned Jell-O at the time) ran a campaign suggesting home bakers pour liquid jelly into holes poked in a plain sheet cake. What resulted was something colourful, squishy, and deeply embedded in the American psyche. It became a hit at potlucks, family reunions, and birthday parties from Ohio to Oklahoma. Soon, other variations joined the jelly version—pudding, sweetened condensed milk, chocolate sauce, caramel. If it could drip, it could poke.

The poke cake is essentially the Marie Kondo of desserts. It sparks joy. It doesn’t ask for much—a box cake mix, something to poke it with, and a pourable topping—but what it delivers is a texture that says, “I’m not just cake; I’m cake with a secret.”

Regional varieties abound. Down South in the US, they love it with banana pudding and crushed vanilla wafers. In the Midwest, you might find a cherry poke cake with whipped topping and festive sprinkles. There’s even a tres leches-style take floating around in Latin American kitchens, which feels like a glorious collision of cultural cake-soaking traditions. And while the UK hasn’t exactly embraced the poke cake like its transatlantic cousins, there’s nothing stopping a savvy baker from British-ising it with a drizzle of custard or lemon curd. Poke cake with Bird’s custard, anyone? It’s practically an Anglo-American treaty.

What makes it special isn’t just the squidge factor. It’s the versatility. You can take any flavour profile and turn it into a poke cake. Strawberries and cream? Done. Black forest gateau-style with kirsch and cherry pie filling? Absolutely. You can even go rogue and make a tiramisu poke cake, layering coffee liqueur and mascarpone cream over chocolate sponge. It’s the Swiss Army knife of the baking world.

As for drink pairings, think simple and nostalgic. A cold glass of milk is the classic if you’re feeling like a child again. Coffee is the adult choice, cutting through the sweetness like a dependable friend who always tells you the truth. If you’re pushing the boat out, try a dessert wine like Moscato d’Asti or a splash of Amaretto over ice. Sweet meets sweeter.

Complementary foods? Honestly, poke cake is a show-stealer. But if you’re feeling extra, serve it after a comfort-food-heavy meal—mac and cheese, fried chicken, meatloaf. It can also cap off a light lunch of quiche and salad like the grand finale of a magic trick. Just don’t expect it to behave with dignity. It will ooze. It will collapse on the plate. That’s part of the charm.

Health benefits? Let’s not kid ourselves. This isn’t a quinoa salad. It’s a sugar-forward, happiness-engineered dessert. That said, you can make lighter versions with Greek yoghurt-based toppings or use sugar-free jelly. But honestly, if you’re eating poke cake, you’re in it for the pleasure. Own it.

You can find poke cake in American-style bakeries, diners that take themselves lightly, or on tables at expat gatherings. But more often, it shows up in kitchens, made with love and a bit of mischief, perfect for baking with kids or just feeling like one yourself.

Here’s a recipe for a classic strawberry poke cake that will make you question why you ever bothered with dry sponge in the first place.

Strawberry poke cake recipe

Start with a box of white or yellow cake mix. Bake it according to the packet’s instructions.

Once it’s out of the oven and still warm, grab a skewer (or the handle of a wooden spoon if you’re feeling dramatic) and poke holes all over the surface—go to town, but don’t destroy the thing.

Mix one packet of strawberry jelly with one cup of boiling water. Stir until dissolved, then add half a cup of cold water. Pour it slowly over the cake, making sure it seeps into all the holes. Chill in the fridge for at least four hours. More is better.

Top it with whipped cream—fresh or the kind from a tub, no judgement here—and scatter with sliced strawberries. Slice, serve, and prepare for messy, nostalgic joy.

It’s not just a cake. It’s a cake with a punchline. And that punchline is delicious.