The first thing you notice is its hue — a warm golden amber, with a faint reddish undertone that glows against the light. It swirls with grace, catching the glass in slow, syrupy legs that hint at richness. It’s inviting. Familiar. Almost comforting.

On the nose, there’s an immediate wave of dried fruit — apricots and sultanas — softened by orange blossom and gentle florals. But it’s not overtly perfumed. There’s restraint here, a softness. Underneath, a touch of warm spice: cinnamon, a wisp of nutmeg, even a faint echo of toasted oak. As it opens, the fruit deepens — stewed peach and a brush of golden syrup — layered with vanilla and the faintest suggestion of black tea.

Take a sip, and the texture is round and silky, like slipping into something well-worn and familiar. The flavours come in gentle waves — candied orange peel, fig, a touch of clove, and a honeyed note that lingers through the mid-palate. There’s a subtle grip from the oak, not drying but present, adding structure to what would otherwise be a too-soft spirit.

As it lingers, a gentle warmth spreads across the palate. The sweetness fades into a slightly earthy, spiced finish — soft wood, dried apricot skin, and just a whisper of citrus oil. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t rush. It leaves slowly, like the end of a conversation you didn’t want to finish.

In summary: Metaxa 7 Star is less about fireworks and more about familiarity. It’s comforting, polished, and quietly expressive — like an old melody that doesn’t need a chorus to be memorable.