It was a weird Tuesday in early 2024 when the news hit. Jamie Queli, the force of nature behind Forgotten Boardwalk Brewing Company, announced they were shutting down. Just like that. After nearly a decade of pouring funnel cake-flavored nostalgia into cans, the taps were going dry in Cherry Hill. People were genuinely shocked. If you lived in South Jersey or spent any time hunting for weird, high-quality craft beer in the Philly suburbs, Forgotten Boardwalk was a fixture. It wasn't just another warehouse brewery with a chalkboard; it had a specific, slightly eerie, boardwalk-at-midnight vibe that nobody else was doing.
Beer is a tough business.
Honestly, the "why" behind the closure is more complicated than just saying people stopped drinking beer. It’s a mix of real estate headaches, a shifting market, and the brutal reality of being a mid-sized fish in an increasingly crowded pond.
The Odd Origins of Forgotten Boardwalk Brewing Company
Forgotten Boardwalk didn't just appear out of thin air. It launched in 2014, taking over the space formerly occupied by Flying Fish Brewing Co. after they moved to Somerdale. Jamie Queli was one of the few women at the helm of a brewery in a heavily male-dominated industry, and she didn't play it safe. She leaned hard into the theme of the "forgotten" Jersey Shore—think curiosities, side-shows, and the slightly grimy magic of Asbury Park or Wildwood in the 70s.
The branding was impeccable. You remember the cat? The "Growler" mascot? It was everywhere.
Their flagship, Funnel Cake Cream Ale, was a polarizing masterpiece. Some people found it too sweet, but most of us loved the audacity of it. It used Madagascar vanilla beans to mimic that exact smell of fried dough and powdered sugar you get when you're walking past a stand on the boards. They weren't just making beer; they were selling a very specific New Jersey memory.
Why the location mattered
The brewery sat on Olney Avenue in Cherry Hill. It wasn’t a glamorous spot. It was a business park. But they turned that industrial shell into a "tasting room" that felt like a curated museum of oddities. They had actual Skee-Ball machines. They had funhouse mirrors. It was the kind of place where you could bring a date who "doesn't like beer" and they'd actually have a good time because the environment was so distracting.
The problem with being in a business park, though, is that you’re at the mercy of your lease and your landlord. In her public statements regarding the closure, Queli was pretty transparent about the fact that they couldn't reach an agreement on a lease extension. When your landlord won't play ball and you're staring down the barrel of moving a massive brewing operation—which costs hundreds of thousands of dollars in rigging and plumbing alone—sometimes the math just doesn't add up anymore.
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What Really Happened with the Closure?
Business is cold.
In February 2024, the brewery officially shuttered its doors. It wasn't because the beer was bad. In fact, they were still winning awards. The reality of the craft beer "bubble" bursting is something every brewery owner is terrified of right now. Costs for aluminum went up. Grain prices spiked because of global instability. CO2 shortages made carbonation more expensive.
But the lease was the nail in the coffin.
Negotiating a commercial lease for a brewery is a nightmare. You have massive floor drains, specialized electrical needs, and heavy equipment. You can't just move into a vacant Starbucks. Queli mentioned that the company had "exhausted all efforts" to stay. When a brewery owner says that, it usually means the rent hike was astronomical or the owner of the building had other plans for the square footage that didn't involve a noisy taproom with Skee-Ball.
The New Jersey regulatory headache
Let’s talk about the Elephant in the room: New Jersey liquor laws.
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NJ has some of the most restrictive and, frankly, bizarre brewery laws in the United States. For years, breweries weren't allowed to serve food. They couldn't host more than a certain number of events. They were even restricted on how many televisions they could have. While some of these laws were finally eased by Governor Phil Murphy in early 2024, for many, it was too little, too late.
Forgotten Boardwalk Brewing Company spent a decade fighting these uphill battles. Imagine trying to run a hospitality business where you’re legally barred from selling a bag of pretzels to a guy who’s had three IPAs. It’s exhausting. The administrative burden of staying compliant in New Jersey is a full-time job in itself.
The Legacy of Funnel Cake and Morro Castle
You can't talk about this brewery without talking about the beer itself. They had a "core four" that stayed relatively consistent, but their seasonal releases were where the real weirdness lived.
- Funnel Cake Cream Ale: The big one. 5.5% ABV. It was light, creamy, and smelled like a carnival.
- What the Butler Saw: A witbier that was remarkably crisp. It was their "entry-level" beer for people who were scared of hops.
- Shore Tea: This was a later addition, tapping into the hard tea craze. It was basically a spiked Arnold Palmer.
- Morro Castle: A smoked porter named after a famous 1934 shipwreck off Asbury Park. It tasted like campfire and chocolate.
The Morro Castle porter is a great example of why people loved them. They took a dark, tragic piece of New Jersey history and turned it into a complex, smoky beer. It showed they actually cared about the local lore. They weren't just slapping "Jersey" on a label to sell cans; they were deep in the weeds of the state’s history.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Craft Beer Decline
There's a common misconception that people just stopped liking craft beer. That’s not it. The market is just maturing.
Back in 2014, when Forgotten Boardwalk opened, you could be the only brewery in a 10-mile radius. By 2024, there were probably five others within a fifteen-minute drive. Competition for tap handles at local bars became cutthroat. Distribution is a "pay to play" game where the big guys often squeeze out the smaller independent labels.
Honestly, the "mid-sized" brewery is the hardest thing to be right now. If you're tiny, you can survive on taproom sales. If you're huge, you have the volume to lower your costs. But if you’re in the middle—like Forgotten Boardwalk was—you have high overhead but not enough volume to dominate the grocery store shelves. It's a squeeze.
Can You Still Find Their Beer?
Short answer: No.
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When they closed, they did a final "cellar sale." People lined up around the block to get their last cases of Funnel Cake and whatever was left in the tanks. Once those cans were gone, they were gone. You might find a dusty 6-pack in the back of a liquor store in some remote part of South Jersey, but the "best by" date is likely long past.
There was some talk about the brand being sold or the recipes being licensed out, but as of now, the boardwalk is officially closed. Jamie Queli has been active in the industry as a consultant and advocate, but the physical brewery in Cherry Hill is a ghost.
Actionable Steps for Craft Beer Fans
If you’re bummed out about the loss of Forgotten Boardwalk, there are a few things you should actually do to make sure your other favorites don't meet the same fate.
- Buy direct from the source. Every time you buy a 4-pack at a liquor store, the brewery only sees a fraction of that money. If you buy it directly from the brewery taproom, they keep almost all the profit.
- Watch the legislative space. Keep an eye on New Jersey’s brewery laws. Organizations like the Brewers Guild of New Jersey are constantly fighting for things like the right to host more events or partner with food trucks. Your voice actually matters in those legislative sessions.
- Explore the "weird" breweries. Don't just stick to the ones making 15 different types of Hazy IPA. Support the places like Forgotten Boardwalk that are taking risks on weird flavors like smoked porters or cream ales. If we only buy IPAs, that’s all we’re going to have left.
- Check out the local "Successors." While you can't get Forgotten Boardwalk anymore, South Jersey still has heavy hitters like Double Nickel, Tonewood, and Eclipse. They are carrying the torch for the region now.
The story of Forgotten Boardwalk isn't necessarily a tragedy, but it is a cautionary tale. It shows that even with a great brand, a loyal following, and award-winning beer, the business of alcohol is incredibly fragile. It requires a perfect alignment of real estate, regulation, and consumer trends. When one of those pieces falls out of place, the whole thing can go dark.
For now, we just have the memories—and maybe an empty, nostalgic can of Funnel Cake sitting on a shelf.
Next Steps for the Curious:
If you want to track where the equipment or the brand might resurface, follow the New Jersey Division of Alcoholic Beverage Control (ABC) filings or keep tabs on Jamie Queli's professional updates on LinkedIn. Often, the intellectual property of these breweries is sold off quietly behind the scenes months after the doors close.