Still the world's best

But, above all, its owner, Heston Blumenthal, is wildly pretentious, claiming to specialise in 'molecular gastronomy' and concocting things like snail porridge and bacon-and-egg ice cream in his 'laboratory' after consultation with historians, flavourists and experimental psychologists. Given the forbidding sound of these dishes, it's hardly surprising that The Fat Duck chalked up losses of £78,229 last year.

For the purposes of putting the restaurant through its paces, I set a whole afternoon aside and invited my friend Sean Langan to accompany me. Sean is a BBC documentary-maker who regularly risks his neck in places like Kabul and Baghdad, so I thought he'd be able to cope with sardines-on-toast sorbet and Douglas fir purée.

We took the train to Maidenhead from Paddington and then got a taxi from the station to the restaurant. It was an inauspicious start to the day - we'd already clocked up a bill of £25.20 before we'd even sat down.

The Fat Duck certainly doesn't look like 'the best restaurant in the world', an accolade it was awarded last year by an international panel of 600 chefs, food critics and restaurateurs. At first, I thought our taxi driver must have come to the wrong place. He pulled up outside a very modest-looking cottage on a main road somewhere in Berkshire. From where I was sitting, it looked like a tearoom.

Once inside, the impression doesn't improve much. Apart from a couple of works of abstract expressionism on the wall, there's nothing to indicate this isn't just another petit bourgeois restaurant of the kind found in every village in England.

A full complement of middle-aged couples sat quietly at small tables covered with white linen, while a French maitre d' glided around, addressing his regulars in a low murmur. Were these really the lab-rats for the world's most innovative chef?

Sean and I opted for the tasting menu and it wasn't until the palate cleanser arrived that we got an inkling of what all the fuss was about. Our waiter appeared with the bottom half of an ice-cream maker, a large aerosol can and a canister of liquid nitrogen.

He then poured some of the nitrogen into the icecream maker, sprayed a dollop of what looked like green hair mousse into a spoon and dropped it into the smoke-filled cauldron. Seconds later, he fished out something resembling a meringue and told me to pop it into my mouth.

As soon as I inserted it, the shell shattered, releasing an ice-cold liquid that tasted first of lime and then, after I'd swallowed it, green tea. It was an extraordinary sensation, as though someone had sandblasted the inside of my mouth with alpine air. Needless to say, the moment the experience was over I wanted another one - and the waiter was happy to oblige.

This was the curtain raiser in what proved to be a highly theatrical, 14-course feast, unlike any meal I've ever eaten. After tasting something so strange - and yet so exquisite - all our nervousness about the 13 remaining dishes evaporated and we willingly placed ourselves in Mr Blumenthal's hands.

Not everything that was put in front of us was as sensational as the opening gambit, but the highlights - mustard ice cream accompanied by a red cabbage gazpacho, two postage stamp-sized squares of orange and beetroot jelly, the bacon-and-egg ice cream - were among the best things I've ever tasted.

Blumenthal has achieved a mastery over smell and flavour that borders on the supernatural, with the different qualities of a particular dish revealing themselves sequentially, rather than simultaneously.

Sean and I consumed our oysters in a single mouthful and then sat back and waited for the accompanying sauces and whatnot - passion fruit jelly, horseradish cream, lavender - to kick in. The effect was almost psychoactive, as if we'd taken a small pill and then, after a suitable interval, been whisked to the moon.

Such extraordinary experiences don't come cheap - the total cost of our meal, including wine, was £339.75 - but the fact that The Fat Duck still loses money at these prices proves that no expense has been spared when it comes to research and development.

Heston Blumenthal is like a cross between Professor Brainstorm and Willy Wonka and, contrary to all appearances, this ordinary-looking room in the heart of the Home Counties is his psychedelic chocolate factory. Don't be put off by the weirdness of the menu - The Fat Duck really is the best restaurant in the world.

The Fat Duck
1 The High Street, Bray, Berkshire, SL6 2AQ