What the Hell Do You Drink with Cheesecake?
Here’s the thing about cheesecake: it’s rich, creamy, sweet — and people ruin it by pouring something equally sweet into their glass and turning the whole experience into a sugar coma.
I refuse.
If you’re going to eat cheesecake and you should you need something in your glass that works with it, not against it. You want contrast. You want balance. You want something that makes the cheesecake taste better, not like you just drank frosting.
Let’s talk about what actually works.
And then we’ll get to the Greek plot twist.
Vanilla Cheesecake: The Classic
Vanilla cheesecake is the purist’s choice. Creamy, gently tangy from the cream cheese, sweet but not aggressive, with that buttery graham cracker crust anchoring the whole thing.
The move: Demi-Sec Champagne.
Yes, Champagne. Stay with me.
Demi-Sec lives in that perfect middle ground — not bone-dry, not dessert-sweet. Just enough sugar to complement the cake without drowning it. The bubbles do the heavy lifting, slicing through the richness and resetting your palate between bites. And the subtle brioche and toast notes echo the graham cracker crust in a way that feels deliberate.
It’s elegant. It’s unexpected. It makes you look like you know what you’re doing. (If you want the full framework, here’s how to pair food and wine without overthinking it.)
If you reach for Moscato d’Asti, I can’t stop you. But you will be layering sugar onto sugar and calling it pairing. We are better than that.
Chocolate Cheesecake: The Indulgence
Chocolate cheesecake is already doing a lot: cream cheese, bittersweet chocolate, usually a ganache situation on top because apparently dessert needed a velvet cape.
It doesn’t need more sweetness. It needs depth.
The move: Tawny Port or Nectar Dulce Pedro Ximénez Sherry.
A proper aged Tawny Port brings caramel, toasted nuts, and dried fruit. It doesn’t fight the chocolate. It wraps around it. That gentle oxidative warmth makes the chocolate taste darker, more complex, more intentional.
If Port isn’t your thing, Nectar Dulce Pedro Ximénez Sherry is the sultry backup singer who steals the scene.
It brings deep raisin, fig, molasses, and dark caramel notes that lean into the chocolate without making the whole thing taste like a sugar hostage situation.
The goal isn’t more sugar.
It’s dimension.
Lemon & Fruity Cheesecakes: The Bright Ones
Lemon cheesecake. Raspberry swirl. Strawberry-topped. Blueberry everything. These are brighter, tangier, more playful.
The move: Late Harvest Riesling.
It’s one of the most versatile dessert wines on the planet, and I will die on this hill. (It also makes my list of white wines worth drinking right now.)
The fruit in the wine — apricot, peach, honey — harmonizes with the fruit on the cake without mimicking it. And that acidity keeps everything vivid instead of sliding into sugar-on-sugar chaos.
Think of it this way: the cheesecake sings melody. The Riesling brings harmony.
And Now, Metaxa: The Greek Plot Twist
At my recent birthday luncheon for 30, I served a Publix strawberry ganache cheesecake for dessert. One of their bakery staples, creamy vanilla bean cheesecake, strawberries cascading over the top robed in dark chocolate, chocolate ganache involved. Gorgeous.
Absolutely zero effort required on my part, which was intentional, because I had already spent the previous 24 hours bleeding for an 18-pound brisket.
For the pairing, I pulled out a bottle of Metaxa 7 Stars.
And this is where it gets interesting…
What Metaxa Actually Is
Metaxa is not brandy.
I know it looks like brandy. I know it sits next to brandy. I know someone’s father has confidently referred to it as brandy while gesturing with authority.
It is not brandy.
It begins with Greek Savatiano, Sultanina, and Black Corinth grapes, fermented into wine, distilled twice, and aged in Limousin oak casks. So far, very brandy-coded.
But then it pivots.
The aged distillate is blended with mature Muscat wines from the Greek islands and a closely guarded mix of Mediterranean botanicals — including rose petals — before returning to barrel to marry and mellow.
The result lives in its own category. Smoother than most brandy. More perfumed. Honeyed but structured. Warm a tiny bit aggressive.
It tastes intentional.
Metaxa 7 Stars: The Flavor
Seven Stars means distillates aged up to seven years, and you feel that time in the glass.
It pours a burnished old gold. On the nose: orange marmalade, dried apricot, toasted walnut, a flicker of black pepper. Beneath that, something floral and faintly exotic — lifted, not sugary.
On the palate it’s velvety and layered: figs, prunes, honey, vanilla, cinnamon. The Muscat brings a soft, perfumed brightness; the oak gives it spine. There’s just enough dryness at the edges to keep it composed.
The finish is long, warm, and civilized. It doesn’t cling. It concludes.
Why It’s Perfect with Cheesecake
At the luncheon, I poured Metaxa alongside the strawberry ganache cheesecake — and the table went quiet.
Chilled, creamy cheesecake. Sweet strawberries. Dark chocolate. Then that warm, floral, honeyed spirit.
The dried fruit and vanilla deepen the cream cheese richness. The rose and citrus slice cleanly through the strawberries and ganache. The oak-aged warmth anchors everything so the sweetness doesn’t drift into excess.
It doesn’t compete. It completes.
You take a bite. You take a sip. The flavors fold into each other. Someone leans back. Conversation pauses.
It’s a moment.
Take the moment.
How to Serve It
Neat in a small glass if you want the full aromatic experience.
On ice to open it up and soften the warmth.
A splash of cold water if you prefer it gentler.
Just don’t shoot it. This isn’t tequila. Sip it. Let it close the evening properly.
The Real Reason I Love It
I was eight or nine. Big family dinner. Plates cleared. Kids orbiting the table. Women in the kitchen.
Then the men brought out the Metaxa.
My father and uncles leaned back in their chairs with small glasses of amber liquid, talking about things in Greek I wasn’t meant to hear and could barely understand. It felt important. Private. Grown-up.
I crept closer.
My dad’s eldest brother looked at me and said, “Go away. This isn’t for girls.”
Not cruel. Just certain.
This ritual — not for you.
So I went.
Forty-some years later, I’m the one pouring the Metaxa. I choose the pairing. I decide when dinner turns into the good part.
No one tells me to go away anymore.
And if they did, I’d pour another, keep my seat, and show them how to exit my door.
That’s what Metaxa tastes like to me. Not just dried figs and rose petals and honey.
It tastes like sitting at the table.
Finally.
The Cheesecake Pairing Cheat Sheet
Vanilla
Demi-Sec Champagne
Bubbles cut richness; toast echoes the crust.
Chocolate
Tawny Port or Late Harvest Riesling
Adds depth, not more sugar.
Lemon / Fruity
Late Harvest Riesling
Acidity keeps it bright; fruit harmonizes.
Any of the above
Metaxa 7 Stars
Floral, honeyed, warm — the Greek plot twist.
Go create a mood. Try not to let it go to your head. And if you’re still not sure what to pour, this will help you choose without crying in the aisle.
Cheers,
