The Dalmore 1263 King Alexander III (or as I like to call it, The Dalmore MCCLXIII King Alexander 3) has legs like rosewater running off a Jaguar XKE windshield that's been treated with Rainex.
On the nose, nothing so much as a tangelo flambeed in Tahitian vanilla served rolled in a Dominican tobacco leaf. Unless it's a fruit custard tart drenched in a farrago of liquers: Cointreau, Chambord, Sambucca, Gran Marnier. It's surprisingly watery in the mouth, which in no way undermines the heat at the back end. (Maybe more akin to Scarlett Johanssen gas after she ate too many jalapeno poppers?) The finish is pleasantly evanescent, like a smoke
ring wafted away by a summer zephyr at twilight. The flavor comes apart like a Japanese puzzle box, and the taste ripples away like five receivers running a spread pattern from the shotgun formation. Is there a theme that ties this together? I think not, but it is a lovely dram that manages to harmonize its tesserae strengths and weakness to produce a mosaic of wonderment and joy.
The Dalmore MCCLXIII King Alexander 3 is Charles Babbage's Analytical Engine--It's just frickin' amazing.