I dined at a 3-star Michelin restaurant for the first time. It wasn't what I expected — and I can't wait to go back.

O'Connell opened his restaurant in 1978. The self-taught chef, who learned with the help of Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," aspired to bring fine dining to the American countryside.

"In 1979, I began taking pilgrimages to the three-star Michelin restaurants of France to establish a benchmark for this place," O'Connell told me as we sat by a roaring fireplace in the restaurant's kitchen. "I wanted to see places that were outside major urban centers, the little villages."

"I realized that while America didn't have any tradition of expecting a fine meal outside a city, if it's something that was part of French culture, maybe one day Americans would embrace the same idea," he continued. "And now they have."

That changed in 2016 when the Inn at Little Washington was awarded two stars in the first-ever Michelin Guide for DC. Two years later, the restaurant got its third star and has held on to it ever since.

The acclaim has filled O'Connell's dining room with a new international clientele, who he said collect three-star Michelin restaurants like "Gucci, Dior, or Chanel." But the chef is glad the Inn had time to come into itself.

"It didn't just hit like a lightning bolt," he added. "So we've been able to maintain our sense of humor and humility and not take ourselves too seriously."

Guests who reserve the two special tables available in O'Connell's kitchen are given a blessing. The chef told me it's a tribute to the "sacred space" and a tongue-in-cheek reference to the Mondavi nickname.

Before they set foot in the space, an altar boy will appear, holding a golden censer with incense, which he rocks back and forth in time with a soundtrack of chanting French monks.

"The chefs don't even hear it anymore. They just feel it," O'Connell said. "But we like to say it reduces cursing."

My dinner would take place in the dining room, but I briefly sat in the breakfast nook to try some canapés and watch O'Connell's kitchen at work on the night's dinner service.

Diners at the Inn can select "The Gastronaut" menu, which features seafood and meat, or "The Good Earth" menu if they want to go vegetarian. Both menus change with the season, feature six courses (plus a few amuse-bouches to start), and are priced at $388 per person. Business Insider received a media rate for the dinner.

As I munched on the delicious popcorn, O'Connell explained that he sees dining in a restaurant as a film — and the guest as its star.

"The whole idea of what we do is seduction," the chef said. "I can't serve anybody something I don't love or wouldn't want to eat. If it doesn't deliver on the palate, if it doesn't make you swoon, what's the point? It has to be personal."

A server then came by with a round of playful but elevated canapés. There was a crisp chip filled with pimento cheese and rolled like a cannoli, plus a pair of fried green tomatoes topped with generous scoops of caviar.

I've gone behind the scenes of some legendary restaurants, but I've never seen a kitchen as beautifully designed as the Inn at Little Washington.

Instead of cramped spaces and industrial silver as far as the eye can see, there are high ceilings, huge windows, and shimmering copper. The decorative blue and white tiles on the walls derive from an ancient tradition — O'Connell told me "it was thought that blue deterred flies" — seen in the dairy room at Windsor Castle, which was the kitchen's design inspiration.

Meanwhile, the dinner service was in full swing. I watched as O'Connell's staff calmly plated delicate pieces of sashimi and piped "Happy Birthday" on white chocolate.

As O'Connell pointed to different stations, proudly introducing every cook, he told me they were planning the night's menu for a table of German tourists who were staying at the Inn for 10 nights and "never have the same thing twice."

"Anticipation," "Trepidation," "Inspection," "Fulfillment," and "Evaluation" are displayed across the kitchen to remind the staff "what phase or stage the guest is at in any moment," O'Connell said.

Anticipation, the first stage, is one that O'Connell believes even "the most jaded diner in the world" feels before they step into the dining room. Then, there's trepidation, when the guest is "naturally worried that it might not live up to their grandiose expectations."

Inspection likely begins after "the second sip of their first drink," when the guest starts looking around the restaurant.

"You can't have any flaws stand out at that point because then it ruins the illusion," O'Connell told me.

Fulfillment tends to follow after the meat course, while evaluation begins after the final bite of dessert.

"The key that we've succeeded is on their departure if they're talking about who they wish to bring on their next visit," the chef explained. "It's always very rewarding to me when they say, 'We need to bring our parents here,' because that's very personal."

I was led into the sanctuary through the warmly lit lounge and dining room, ornately decorated with scarlet drapes, pastel-pink chairs, and velvet blue booths.

The lights were dim, casting shadows of the palm tree fronds that filled the space. A menu with my name on it was waiting for me, and the anticipation I'd been feeling for weeks was fully setting in. The first stage of dining had officially commenced.

The canapé, a delicious potato crisp filled with Parmesan and rolled in truffle, filled me with cheesy warmth. It was immediately followed by an oyster encased with an apple gelée and topped with Meyer lemon foam, a delightfully light and refreshing bite.

The quick contrast of flavors and textures was as unexpected as Dolly Parton crooning through the hidden speakers. When I later told O'Connell I never expected to hear Dolly in a three-star Michelin restaurant, the chef told me he wanted to give a "sense of place."

"It has to be somebody's house and somebody's taste, so it has to be eclectic, and it can't be predictable," he said. "Each song is chosen to take you on a little journey."

At the base of the egg was a roasted garlic custard, followed by sautéed cauliflower and chanterelle mushrooms topped with Parmesan foam and breadcrumbs.

The filling was rich and silky, yet still light on my tongue, thanks to the frothy texture.

Displayed alongside a mountain of butter were four different types of bread, including fresh baguettes and a sourdough made from a 143-year-old starter.

I already knew O'Connell's bread was baked to perfection after sampling it during the hotel's breakfast that morning, so I decided to save space. After all, I still had six courses ahead of me.

The dish featured Petrossian's Tsar Imperial Ossetra Caviar, mixed with Chesapeake crab and cucumber rillette and served in its tin.

I spooned some of the mixture onto the lightly buttered brioche toast, which added a satisfying crunch and contrast of texture as the caviar and crab melted into my mouth.

The buttery caviar had just a hint of brine, allowing the light and bright crab to shine, while the cucumber added a refreshing bite to the overall flavor.

Sometimes, to truly illustrate how much I loved a dish, I think it's better to begin with the notes I wrote upon my first taste. For the carpaccio, it was: "Holy shit, this is incredible."

A server presented the plate, a visually stunning quilt of bright and pale pinks, before grating some fresh wasabi straight from the root.

So many different flavors were tap dancing on my tongue, including the bright yuzu brushed on top of the fish and the creamy avocado that cut through the acidity. It was one of the most refreshing things I've ever tasted and paired perfectly with the glass of Infinite Summer sake that my waiter recommended.

O'Connell's incredible carpaccio was tough to follow, but his light-as-air cabbage made a valiant effort.

The classic French technique he taught himself by repeatedly making Julia Child's recipes was on full display with the silky beurre blanc, which had just a touch of bright lemon and paired beautifully with the lusciously soft crab.

My server recommended I use a spoon to get all the sauce, and you better believe I finished every last drop.

"Americans have this thing about the meat course," O'Connell told me knowingly before dinner. "You have to be careful to give them enough meat. And only after the main course has been served will they allow themselves to sort of fall into an animal satisfaction of fulfillment."

I was definitely satisfied following the tenderloin, which was plentiful and far more tender than I ever thought possible of venison.

The Szechuan peppers crackled on my tongue, adding a fun twist to what could have been a standard fine-dining dish. O'Connell's flair and creativity were on display once again.

Served alongside the refreshingly tart mousse — which a waiter told me was inspired by a Martha Stewart recipe — was a card explaining that pawpaw was George Washington's favorite fruit.

It's a lovely little treat that pays homage to the town's namesake and illustrates O'Connell's impeccable attention to every detail. Just look at the two garnishes on top, shaped like a rose and a heart.

From the careful shading to the tiny drop of water sliding down its curve, this pear cheesecake was the perfect illusion dessert.

The deliciously indulgent cheesecake featured soft and sweet poached pears in its center, and I couldn't get enough of the boozy amaretto sabayon sauce.

It was a fun and whimsical end to a meal that was just as lively and playful as O'Connell had promised.

"My parents would love this place," I kept thinking as I nibbled on the bark and sipped chamomile tea.

A song with the words "sleep well" was wafting softly from the speakers, almost like a lullaby. It was a moment of pure contentment.

I only realized later, when I listened back to my interview with O'Connell, that I had entered the final stage of dining that he aspires to take every guest.

"You're not going to bring your parents to somewhere that's questionable or that's stupidly trendy," he said. "You want them to have that same similar wonderful experience that you had."

O'Connell's love for the food, the Inn, and this tiny town in Virginia shines through in every one of his dishes. Plenty of three-star Michelin restaurants coast on their reputation, knowing there will always be people with big wallets who want to collect their menus like stamps. But O'Connell is still in the kitchen every night, trying to make the experience special for every guest.

"This is why we acknowledge that we can't make it as good as it was last time," O'Connell said. "It has to be better."

I can't wait to go back. And next time, I'll bring my parents.