Forty years is a long time for a restaurant to stick around. But at Winston’s Grille, which just hit that milestone in October, perhaps the more remarkable number isn’t 40.
It might be 30—the roughly three decades General Manager Roger Carter has spent there. Or 20: the number of years busser Philip has been part of the team. Or even 10—the average tenure of a Winston’s employee. And apparently the staff aren’t the only ones with impressive tenure: The prime rib clocks in at 40 as well, a menu staple and crowd favorite since day one.
In an industry known for turnover, Winston’s has made something of an art out of staying. For four decades, its Sutton Square home has been the kind of place where you walk through the doors and there’s an immediate sense they’ve been expecting you. The large space unfolds into smaller gathering spots, a sunroom and an award-winning outdoor patio. Families gather around tables. Birthdays are celebrated. First dates become anniversaries. It’s where regulars request the same favorite table for years.
The menu has the same pull-up-a-chair energy. The lump crab-loaded Carolina crab dip rivals anything you’d get at the coast. The velvety shrimp and grits, piled with tomatoes, shallots, shiitake mushrooms and bacon, is a must-try—and chef Jamar Bryson’s go-to dish.
You really can’t go wrong with the menu… unless of course, you leave without having the homemade ice cream. And “homemade” isn’t used loosely. Founders Charles Winston and Wil O’Neal went all the way to Penn State’s famed Ice Cream Short Course to learn to make it themselves. Forty years later, it’s still spun from scratch right in Winston’s kitchen. Have it over bananas Foster, atop a warm brownie or simply in a pint to take home.
When you spend four decades welcoming people to the table, dinner becomes tradition, familiar faces become family, and somewhere along the way, a restaurant starts to feel a little like home.
So, swing on by, they’ve saved you a seat—and something tells me you might just stay awhile.
There are restaurants you visit because they are new. And then there are restaurants you visit because they are not.
Long before crowded brunch spots, rooftop bars and construction cranes became part of Raleigh’s scenery, there was Jack’s.
Jack’s Seafood & Soul Food gives a growing city like Raleigh something new construction never can: roots. And here in the City of Oaks, we understand growth means very little without them.
TIKTOK SENSATION: Mrs. Maxine (aka the “Potato Salad Queen”) has been cooking & baking it up at Jack’s for over a decade.
Raleigh grew up around the small building on New Bern Avenue. People moved across town. New neighbors moved in. And somewhere along the way, a little place to get a plate of fried fish became something much harder to build: a Raleigh landmark.
For more than 40 years, Jack’s has served more than food. It has served Raleigh itself. But its legacy isn’t measured in years alone. It’s measured in kids who grew up eating there and eventually came back with kids of their own. In Friday night dinners and plates picked up on the way home. In somebody behind the counter knowing your order before you finish saying it. In paper bags still warm from the fryer, familiar faces behind a counter, recipes that don’t need improving—and a sign you’ve passed so many times you can’t quite remember Raleigh without it.
Now don’t let the “seafood” in the name fool you. Yes, people will tell you Jack’s has some of the best fried fish in Raleigh. The menu reads less like a restaurant trying to decide what its concept is and more like somebody asking what you want for Sunday dinner.
Sure, there’s catfish, croaker, shrimp, oysters and more. But have you heard about their turkey wings? Get them with the rice and gravy and a side of greens—that’s turnip or collard for those of you who are new here. And don’t forget the fried chicken, pork chops, mac and cheese, fried okra… how about some chitlins and gizzards and maybe a grape Kool-Aid or sweet tea to wash it all down?
It’s the kind of food that doesn’t need to be deconstructed or drizzled with anything unexpected. It just needs to hit the spot, and the portions are generous enough to suggest somebody back there is personally concerned you haven’t been eating enough.
But the best thing that Jack’s serves may be something you can’t order at the counter: continuity. Food carries memory. A taste or smell can put you back in a kitchen that no longer exists. One bite can remind you of somebody who isn’t here anymore.
More than four decades of people walking through the same door can’t be manufactured. Jack’s is a reminder that a city’s identity isn’t created only by what comes next. It’s also carried by what manages to remain.
There are restaurants where the person behind the counter knows your name. Then there are restaurants where they know your grandma—and cook like her too.
So go to Jack’s. Get the fish. Get the wings. If you go on a Monday, get the meatloaf. Don’t pass on a slice of cake or the banana pudding. And while you wait, listen. There’s a certain sound to a place people have been coming back to for decades—part family reunion, part homecoming.
Some of Raleigh’s most significant history isn’t sitting in one of our wonderful museums. Some of it is still frying fish—and it comes with two sides and hush puppies.
