This week, I found myself stepping out of London and into 1890s France. Nestled in a tiny backstreet in West Kensington, a stone’s throw away from the Tube station, you’ll find a building that looks totally unassuming from the outside – a small cluster of warehouses, a bit of astroturf and a row of parked cars. But step closer and you’ll be transported to a different world entirely.

You’ve found The Lost Estate – home to Chat Noir, London’s newest immersive cabaret experience. From the moment you go through the front door and into a dimly lit hallway framed with plush velvet curtains, it’s like going through a portal. Far from the hustle and bustle of London streets, you’re heading into a world where electric light has only just been invented, where aristocrats rub shoulders with bohemians.

I’m lucky enough to score an invite to this experience. I hand my coat to the cloakroom, and from then on, every step I take brings me deeper into this Parisian world. First, I travel through a winding labyrinth of rooms, each of which gives a bit of background about the experience.

The cabaret is led by Rodolphe Salis, the founder of the Parisian club who is looking to secure his legacy as ringleader. It will take place in three parts – Art, Absinthe and Anarchy. And the cast will be made up of ‘The Mime’ Paul Legrand; ‘The Muse’, Yvette Guilbert; ‘The Dancer’ Cléo de Mérode; and ‘The Illusionist’ Joseph Buatier.

But all this is before entering the room proper – and when I do, I’m instantly taken aback. Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas any more – this is Paris. Red velvet couches, flickering lamps on each table, crystalline glasses, waiters bustling from table to table in bow ties and traditional aprons. The atmosphere feels electric.

Each guest is allocated their own table – we’re placed on one of the higher seats off to the side, with a great view of the central stage where the musicians will later perform. The band is made up of violinist Guy Button, cello player Peteris Sokolovskis, pianist Alex Ullman, percussionist Will Fry and accordion player Aine McLoughlin, who – rather than merely blending into the background – each play their own part in the elaborate show.

This is dinner theatre, so before things kick off we’re treated to the paté maison – an incredibly smooth brandy and vermouth paté served with pickled cucumber, fresh baguette, salami slices and cheese.

Drinks are on offer too – the theatre boasts a full cocktail menu, and we sip champagne as we wait for things to get underway. There are several ticket types, with the private dining VIP being the most expensive at £224.85. That ticket includes “luxury, box-style seating”, a welcome glass of champagne and canapés on arrival, plus the three-course banquet.

The cheapest ticket comes in at £129.85, including the three-course meal and “raised rail seating with an iconic view of the club”. Cabaret dining (“a cabaret table in the heart of the action”) and centre stage (“front row cabaret seating, built into the stage itself”) both come in at £159.85.

Act one – Art – comes with a serving platter of said canapés, and serves as an introduction to each of the acts. The Mime, played by actor Alexander Luttley, tells a mind-bending story about falling in love with a coat, which manages to make us all laugh and tear up at the same time. I don’t think I ever thought I’d be so emotional over an inanimate object, but they wind such a story into a short few minutes that I can’t help it.

The Muse, played by Issy Wroe Wright, shows off her incredible vocal talent, while The Dancer (Coco Belle) jetés around the room seemingly effortlessly. The Illusionist (Neil Kelso) stuns his captive audience with a very impressive series of tricks, all while ringleader Salis (Joe Morrow) corrals his troupe into some semblance of organised chaos.

Individually, the performers are incredible. Together – something we’ll see more of in Act Three – they’re a powerhouse.

There’s a short break in between acts – thankfully long enough for a bathroom break and to eat our main course, coq au vin. The roast chicken is served with red wine jus, pomme purée and pancetta, and is the highlight of the meal, personally.

Act Two comes and we slip into the green hour. Absinthe drips are delivered to tables around the room and we precariously balance sugar cubes over our glasses while watching the liquid turn gradually yellow, permeated with the scent of aniseed.

The only way I can describe this section is akin to a fever dream. The music slips into something low and slow, the light around us turns green, and Salis’ hypnotic voice bleeds over the audience as though conducting each one of us as his actors. The only thing is, I’m not 100% sure I remember much of it – time slips into being something loose and floaty.

Not to worry, though, because Act Three brings the energy in the room right up again. Served with a fairly average lemon tart and raspberry coulis for dessert, Anarchy is an apt title. It’s total chaos – France turns into Spain as we’re catapulted through a bull fight, an execution and a striptease one after the other. At points, the audience is encouraged to join in with chants of “off with his head!”, sing ‘meow’ to the tune of Frere Jacques, and create our own Spanish salutes. Act Three is my favourite by far.

Chat Noir is more than a show – it is an experience. The tickets, however, are priced quite steeply – worth it for the quality of the performances, but less so for the food, in my opinion. The chicken is delicious and the paté is perfectly lovely, but there’s no standout dish that made me think, ‘Yes, this is what it’s all about’. As the Parisian banquet is advertised as part of the experience as a whole, it’s easy to feel a little bit let down by how average the offerings are. Don’t go in there expecting culinary perfection.

But if you go into Chat Noir wanting to waltz into another world, with impressive talent from all the central performers and a personal touch (The Illusionist even popped by our table to perform an individual magic trick for us), you’re in for a rather expensive treat.

I come away with just one question – how exactly did they manage to transport 1890s Paris to the middle of the UK?