For a veg restaurant that has been around almost forever, Bloodroot has garnered remarkably few reviews here, the most recent one over two years ago. I now remedy that.

I have eaten here around thirty times during the past 41 years, during which the restaurant has little changed. (Its bookstore, however, is now merely a browsing library.) Being an historic relic portends both good and bad points. Good that it resists change and yet remains in business, and this despite its sanguinary name. Bad that a feminist collective is still stuck in the last century for clinging to lacto-vegetarianism that supports a dairy industry that cruelly exploits the females of the species.

It is worth visiting its remote waterfront spot in a quiet residential neighborhood, but not worth the circuitous detour off I-95 to get there. It is inspiring to sit amid an historic site that has contributed to the legacy of vegetarianism, but not inspiring to view the dust bunnies and cat hairballs on the floors, nor to view the spooky old photos of long-deceased women on the walls, more befitting a haunted house on Halloween night.

Those faded photos all of women are complemented by the staff here who, too, are all women. Under the guise of required membership to some secretive historic society, this feminist collective used to reserve one night a week for admission to women only. On one such members-only night in 1988, a luminary of the animal rights movement and I had come from broadcasting his AR talk show on WPKN on which we announced we were going to Bloodroot right after the show. But Selma, who knew us both, cordially turned us away. Despite our begging, she refused to serve us even outside and out of sight. I felt like a black in Jim Crow South denied a seat at the lunch counter. Even 31 years later, that evening has left a bad taste in my mouth.

History aside, we go to restaurants for food. Here, too, come pluses and minuses. Sometimes the food does not rise above the level of home cooking, in which case you are better off staying home. Other times you are treated to memorable meals that rival even G-Zen’s, but without any of G-Zen’s ingratiating hyperbole.

With all-vegan eateries sprouting up all over CT from which I, a strident vegan, can now choose, I may never eat here again. Its now sparsely filled dining hall attests that others have concluded the same. But best that you dine here at least once before either you or it dies, and judge it for yourself.