Muddy River Vibe: Sandwich from Winking’s is symbol of love

Sandwiches taste better when prepared by someone else. 

A study at Carnegie Melon University determined that old saying to be true. The study explained that when one focuses on a stimulus (the sandwich) for so long, it becomes less desirable or enjoyable after time.

Makes sense. This must be where all those significant other “Honey, make me a sandwich” jokes stem from.

 A sandwich made by someone you love may be the best, especially when cut diagonally.

The next best thing would be a sandwich made from a locally-owned classic sandwich shop — the famous and genuine Winking’s Market.

Dick Winking and his aunt, Elise Feld, opened Winking’s Market at 416 S. Fourth in Quincy in 1948. In the 40s, neighborhood grocery stores were just the way things were.  Cars weren’t as common, and the idea of driving across town because your old lady smoked your last Winchester seemed ridiculous when you could just send Junior down to the corner to grab a pack.  Times have changed, but in a lot of way, Winking’s has held firm.  

Dick’s son, Frank Winking, now owns and operates the business. It’s a family affair. Jonathan and Lindsey Schmidt, Mathew Winking and Elizabeth McGee — all cousins through Dick and June Winking — will take your order, ring you out or slice up some habanero cheese. June and her twin sister, Jeanie Goodwin, can still be spotted hard at work in the cramped kitchen churning out hand-made desserts.  

It’s one big family making sandwiches for regulars with simple ingredients, classic recipes and love. Whether it’s a simple turkey and cheese, or a sweet-like-candy ham salad sandwich, it just tastes better coming from them. They serve hot sandwiches too. The hot roast beef with pepper jack cheese slaps. My secret: Ask to add mayonnaise to that messy little meat monster slice of heaven.

A place with this much history and in a town this size, Winking’s could come with serious hipster cred, but they seem to eschew this trend. As far back as most can remember, the vibe has always been an authentic experience.  A web of personal threads and experiences are overlapped and interwoven to create a portrait of Americana. 

I have a friend who stopped there for lunch almost every day during that-one-summer.  My husband walked there to grab a couple of sandwiches during breaks from building sets when he worked as the tech assistant to the late-great Paul Denckla for a transformative year before leaving Quincy with his band. The modern condition seems to have far fewer of these threads.

We won’t regale our grandkids with stories about trudging through the parking lot of HyVee for a week’s worth of food because we were too busy to even think about going twice. But I think my daughter will long remember summer dog-walks down along the river, up the bluff, a quick stop to wave hello at Grandpa Steve in the window on the radio at WTAD, and a stop at Winking’s for a sandwich to go. 

Ham salad 4ever.

I became a regular of Winking’s after stumbling across a homemade commercial made by Jonathon Schmidt. Ever since then, it has been sandwich love.

The simplistic approach to the items it serves is straight nostalgia that resonates with the clientele.  Two guys wearing tape measures and an older man with round glasses and a shirt and tie are waiting on deli sandwiches on white bread while a couple of kids sift through the sodas.

You can buy Takis and a gallon of milk. Chips, cakes, and cold drinks. A newspaper (for now). An asprin. You can still buy a pack of smokes (must be of age).  There’s no tarragon reduction, arugula or garlic aioli.  The sandwiches are like an allegory for the overall vibe. As Jon puts it, “a blast from the past in the brown paper sack.” 

A back counter full of candy brings back a Barrels and Bins meets Caldwell’s Candy store vibe (minus the adult content).  A pocket full of change makes this wall full of candy a Wonka kid’s dream. During the holidays, the countertops are usually filled with homemade candy — all the classics, ready for an easy holiday gift or your own little treat. It’s a classic concept that hardly exists anywhere else around here.  If it does, it’s been packaged for ease of consumption like a classic candy sampler in the checkout lane at Walmart.  I regularly purchase the $1 bag of fruit Tootsie Rolls to sneak one piece of candy in my daughter’s cold lunch because I’m a cool mom.

Winking’s has small, prepared salads and an assortment of homemade soups. The chicken noodle soup has healing powers that only a Q-townie would know about. The next time you want to send some “Get Well” wishes to someone, drop them off some porch soup.

The Winking’s crew has kept it old school in more ways than one.  There aren’t five of them now, franchised and lifeless, with factory made nonsense brought in on trucks.  There aren’t T-shirts for sale to show your friends that you eat there all the time, even if you don’t. There’s usually a fast-moving line, food that refuses to change despite the gastro trends, and regular reoccurring faces. Maybe that’s the reason why box markets are all the rage today?

Maybe people want anonymity at the grocery store.  It’s a little annoying when that-one-checkout-guy comments on all the stuff I’m buying. Maybe familiar faces keep us honest?  Maybe, if corner grocery stores came back, and the family who owned mine knew my name and my story and my family, maybe then too much ramen for dinner or too many lottery tickets would be embarrassing enough to be forgone. 

Maybe it’s a lack of community that makes us so brave behind screens and so distant in our outlooks? Did the box store shift change us?  Or did we change first?

I asked Lindsey Schmidt how they do so well in remembering their customers’ names. She said it was easy. Some people who come here were weighed on the scale as a newborn. Some regulars go back four generations. Generations of returning customers says something about the market staff. When they do not remember the customer’s names, they remember their orders — which is their temporary name for them.

I see you, “Guy That Doesn’t Want to Cook for Dinner.” I raise my glass to you. Cheers. Just like that guy, sometimes I just don’t want to make my own sandwich.

Besides, it tastes better when Winking’s makes them.

Brittany Boll is an award-winning mixologist who serves as our Muddy River Vibe correspondent.