Dunbar Indian Tandoori

When your boyfriend is egging you on to write your Unilocal review, you know you either have the Unilocal bug bad… or the restaurant really warrants review, good or bad.
In this case, bloomin’ awful.
We were trying out Dunbar Indian Tandoori on recommendation of a friend,(never trusting him again) so arrived at the restaurant with high hopes. On a Saturday night, it was heaving, so took as a good sign, although we did have to wait in the takeout area to get a table free. That’s ok, they had the Sun to nosey through while waiting.
As we read the paper, this menu appeared on the table in front of us and waggled around, attached to a hand and a silent waiter, who showed us to our table (by show, I mean, walked about 4 steps and pointed).
We read the menus and then we waited for a good 20mins before a waiter came by and even asked us for drinks. Soon later, another waiter appeared to take our food order, barely bothering to even engage eye contact. Umm… ok, wamr welcome being felt here. Good food sometimes begets bad service, so we rolled with it for a while.
Time passed. Drinks eventually arrived. The couple beside us sat with dirty plates for most of this time. More time passed. Starters appeared — vegetable samosas and onion bhajis — looking almost identical. When we finished, an older waiter then took our cutlery and threw a new set on the table. Yes, I said threw.
By the time the main meal showed up (at this point we nearly had our coats on), we had been in the restaurant for a good 90mins. A trolley wheels out and cold plates are thrown on the table. Then the food is thrown. I kid you not, I don’t think that the waiter, chewing gum or something, whatever, really gave a toss if the contents of the bowls and plates he was dumping on the table remained there or not.
Oh yeah, the food, I almost forget to wax lyrical on the delights presented before us. Needless to say, the cunning trick of drown 5 prawns in a vat of sauce was employed here to show quantity — the sauce of choice was an overpoweringly sweet tomato sauce, theoretically with a hint of non-​existent almond. We ordered a Dunbar special rice (greasy) and a Dunbar Special naan (garlic, cheese and onion) — the cheese of choice employed at this fine dining mistake seemed to be akin to Kraft. I dunno folks, if I was from Dunbar and this was used as an artistic expression of my impression of Dunbar, I would be seriously insulted.
Oh and did I mention that I also ordered in my excitement a saag paneer? Ever had it? If you did, you would know that paneer is a soft crumbly white cheese, that doesn’t melt. Dunbar Indian Tandoori insults the collective intelligence of its’ diners by using low grade cheddar cheese, which not only melted, but the flavour combination made this dish inedible.
And this is where I let myself down, because I didn’t start making a scene, or complained. Lets face it, when the waiters are sitting down as you watch paint dry with near empty glasses, waiting for crap food to arrive, what is it going to get you? We just gave up on food barely touched, paid an excruciating £43 quid for a waste of time and life, that frankly would have been better spent at McDonalds, with better service, better food (!) and you would leave quids in and in a better mood than what you would experience if you darkened the doors of Dunbar Indian Tandoori.