Following the unexpected and largely unwelcome success of the country’s first cereal-only restaurant in Philadelphia, in which patrons can curl up in their pajamas and dine on a wide array of breakfast cereals while watching television and reading the paper, a troubling assortment of novelty theme restaurants have popped up across the country over the last year. From Albany’s “Nothing But Napkins” to Baton Rouge’s “Leftovers, Inc.”, theme restaurants are the current toast of the town, and not just Albuquerque’s “Toast Town.” Perhaps the most disturbing of these is Houston, Texas’ “Taste of Home,” an existential crisis of a theme restaurant that recreates the experience of sharing a meal with your apathetic, abusive parents using the magic of animatronics.

Inside the restaurant, patrons sit at a single huge, oversized table on giant chairs, recreating the experience of childhood dining, while a giant animatronic robot mother and father bicker bitterly over family finances. The food is, true to form, largely tasteless and occasionally burnt, depending on whether or not that night’s “show” includes one of the robot mother’s trademark boozy crying jags while food burns on the stove.

Though the restaurant’s menu is starkly limited—you’ll eat what you get and like it, according to the robot father’s genuinely menacing aside—patrons can plan their visits around their favorite entrees, since a strict meal rotation is in place due to the “family’s” tight finances and father’s inability to humble himself by asking for a raise at work. Sunday nights, diners can thrill to pork chops and apple sauce, while Monday nights are for Spam on toast and Tuesdays feature baked chicken. Wednesday is casserole night; Thursday is fish, and Friday night the restaurant orders in pizza from a local pizzeria. Saturday nights the animatronic parents are often absent, and diners have to fend for themselves among the half-empty cereal boxes and bags of flour left over in the kitchen. For that reason, the commune cannot recommend visiting “Taste of Home” on a Saturday, unless both you and your date are on a diet.

Though the experience might sound grim to some, it does serve as a strange sort of childhood therapy to others, not unlike a trip to Arby’s. And a strange sort of camaraderie does develop at the restaurant’s one large table, as patrons compare notes on what might be in the casserole and provide each other comfort when father flies into one of his dramatic, table-shaking rages. The restaurant also features the world’s only black and white big screen TV, though patrons are advised not to attempt changing the channel or questioning father’s viewing choices. But the warm, conversation-killing glow of television (usually tuned to auto racing or a boxing match) does serve to masterfully complete the restaurant’s ambiance.

Regardless of these positives, however, the commune must recommend skipping out before the meal’s dessert course, lest you find yourself stuck there half the night washing the restaurant’s giant, oversized dishes.

Readers interested in experiencing the restaurant for themselves while visiting the Houston area can call 1-555-EAT-HOME to let them know when you’ll be home for dinner, though we do strongly recommend against calling collect.