Puffs of cold smoke followed by peals of laughter – this is not how one expects to begin a meal. But then, this is the Fat Duck (High Street, Bray, Berkshire, 440-1628-580-333, www.fatduck.co.uk), a Michelin three-star establishment in the 16th-century village of Bray, 50 minutes by train from London’s Paddington Station, a place that confounds all expectations.

Chef-owner Heston Blumenthal is famously unschooled in the culinary arts, but he has more than made up for his lack of institutional culinary training with his self-guided study of culinary science. Inspired by the first edition of Harold McGee’s “On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen,” published in 1984, and himself an inspiration for the 2004 edition, Mr. Blumenthal is a proponent of “molecular gastronomy,” a field in which the chemical values of food are compared to find surprising compatibilities (caviar with white chocolate, for instance). The study of molecular gastronomy attracts both scientists and chefs: the term was coined by French scientist Herve This and Oxford physics Professor Nicholas Kurti in the 1980s and first garnered popular culinary attention in the 1990s as practiced by chef Ferran Adria at El Bulli in Spain.

When he’s not experimenting with such ultra-modern approaches, Mr. Blumenthal draws on ancient culinary history for some of his best ideas, playing tricks with food that rival those of his 16th-century forebears, royal chefs who schemed to fool the king or queen and their guests by serving dishes that looked like one thing but tasted of another. For example, between courses a waiter brings a single-serving box of Fat Duck-brand cereal that resembles cornflakes with a side of skim milk, that turns out to be made from something completely different – and more than half the fun is in guessing what it is. (SPOILER ALERT: Skip ahead to the next paragraph if you want to be surprised. The flakes are made by dehydrating thin slices of parsnip. The milk is made by excising juice from the root vegetable.)

But the joy of dining at the Fat Duck extends beyond the curious things Mr. Blumenthal does with food and science, and even beyond what he does with flavor. On top of the compelling combinations cooked up in a laboratory in the back of the restaurant with the assistance of a Ph.D. student – each of which must pass a taste test to make it to the dining room – Mr. Blumenthal distinguishes himself with his wit.

At the Fat Duck, amuses bouches are not just pleasing to the palate, but also entertaining to the mind. For the complete Fat Duck experience, first-time visitors should order the tasting menu for L97.50 (the equivalent in these days of the weak dollar of around $180 or more) consisting of six large courses and numerous smaller ones. A three-course menu is also available for roughly $130, and lunch is a relative bargain at roughly $70). At the start of our meal a waiter appeared before us with a whipped-cream canister. “Are you going to spray that in our mouths?” I asked. “If you like,” the waiter responded, unfazed. “This is a palate cleanser,” he explained, as he sprayed a golf ball-sized puff of egg white foam onto one spoon, and shaped it with another spoon to form an egg-shaped mound, before immersing it in liquid nitrogen until it was solid like a meringue on the outside and chilled liquid-air on the inside. I was instructed to put the entire ball into my mouth at once – no doubt to increase the mirth of my dining companions, who laughed as frosty smoke escaped from my nose. It was funny, sure, and I enjoyed my friends’ second-hand smoke when they took their turns, but I was equally amused by the flavor in my mouth – citrusy and refreshingly cool, green tea and lime.

Even before the first course arrived, we were treated to a series of small, delightful plates: a perfectly chilled raw oyster in its shell on a bed of rock salt, with a cube of passion fruit gelatin and a lavender petal; a tiny terrine of quail jelly, pea puree, cream of langoustine, and a parfait of foie gras (“Make sure to get all the layers on your spoon,” our waiter instructed); a tiny portion of red cabbage gazpacho with mustard ice cream that reminded me of borscht with sour cream (nostalgia is one of the senses that Chef Blumenthal seeks to stimulate).

Other courses included a starter of snail porridge (what might be called escargot in another setting) on a bed of oatmeal with the texture of risotto; poached salmon with licorice shaved tableside; and breast of pigeon with a Moroccan-inspired pastilla flavored with pistachio, cocoa, and other spices. The march of desserts began with a transition – the unlikely salty sweet mix of caviar on a white chocolate disk – and mini ice-cream cones accompanied by a pamphlet on the history of ice cream.

But above all, it was the butter placed on the table with bread that convinced me of Mr. Blumenthal’s commitment to the finest ingredients: made from raw (unpasteurized) milk – salted and unsalted – it was tangy, fresh, and sweet. I have never tasted butter this good, and likely never will again (especially not in the U.S., since our government “protects” us from unpasteurized dairy products).

After eating at the Fat Duck, I thought I would never eat again. No meal would ever compare for intrigue, intellectual stimulation, adventure, or flavor. No meal would ever taste so good or be so amusing. But we go on. We must go on.

Postscript: The next day we ate, with gusto it must be reported, at chef Fergus Henderson’s St. John Bread & Wine in London (94-96 Commercial Street, 44-020-7247-8724; www.stjohnbreadandwine.com). We ate roasted bone marrow and roast beef with drippings; all manner of pig’s head, pressed, rolled, and fried with greens on the side; pig’s trotters baked into a pie; and oozing hot chocolate cake for dessert. Very amusing in a very different way.