Gufaa? Load of Guff

I'm not sure at what point the meal turned sour. Was it possibly the £9 for five half-charred poppadoms and chutney? Yes, I double checked my poppadom hadn't been lacquered in gold-leaf and no, the chutney hadn't been hand-milked from the breasts of mermaids either. It could possibly have been the rosé wine, which conformed so delightfully to that futuristic E.U vision of bored French viticulturists mixing dreg-ends of white and red bargain-bin plonk together in industrial-sized vats and shipping the resultant vinegar off to the ignorant "rosbif". 
Or maybe it was the 45 minute wait for a collection of identical dishes swimming in a ubiquitous lukewarm almondy goop: whether ghosht pasanda, korma or tandoori, you could bet it was going to be yellow and devoid of any kick whatsoever. 
The crispy burnt onion bits at the bottom of my dish were the elements that elicited possibly the only excited groan of the evening. The indignant look of the near-comatose waiter when we tried to remove the service charge from our exorbitant bill at least provided entertainment value, as did the grand debate on the possible provenance of the aforementioned "creamy sauce". Best not to think too long about it, and head somewhere else.

Gufaa

39 Upper Street
London N1 0PN
020 7354 5465