Walk into the Cherry Hill location on a Tuesday night and you’ll see it immediately. It’s not just the smell of charred sourdough or the low hum of a packed dining room. It’s the chalkboard. That massive, slightly dusty slab of slate isn't there for decoration or "rustic vibes." It’s a literal map of the Garden State's harvest. If the corn isn't sweet enough in Burlington County this week, it simply isn't on the menu. That’s the reality of Farm and Fisherman NJ, a place that managed to survive the fickle world of suburban dining by actually doing what everyone else just puts in their Instagram bio: sourcing locally.
Most people think "farm-to-table" is a marketing gimmick. Honestly, usually it is. You see the buzzwords on a laminated menu, but the truck out back says something different. Josh and Colleen Lawler didn’t play that game. When they transitioned from their tiny, critically acclaimed Philadelphia spot to the expansive Farm and Fisherman Tavern in Cherry Hill, skeptics wondered if that intimacy would evaporate. It didn't. They basically doubled down on the dirt.
The Brutal Honesty of a Seasonal Menu
Seasonal eating sounds romantic until it’s February in New Jersey. You’ve got root vegetables. You’ve got cabbage. You’ve got more tubers than you know what to do with. This is where Farm and Fisherman NJ separates itself from the pack. They don't cheat. You won't find flavorless, pale strawberries on the plate in the middle of a January snowstorm just because a dessert needs a garnish.
The menu shifts with a sort of frantic energy. It has to. If a frost hits a specific farm in Salem County, the kitchen pivots within hours. This isn't just about being "green." It’s about flavor. A tomato grown ten miles away and picked yesterday has a chemical composition—a sugar-to-acid ratio—that a grocery store fruit flown from a different hemisphere can never replicate. It’s science, but it tastes like nostalgia.
Josh Lawler, a chef who sharpened his teeth at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, brought a high-level technicality to South Jersey that wasn't really there before. He knows that a beet isn't just a beet. When you salt-roast it and serve it with a sharp Greek yogurt and a crunch of pistachio, it becomes something else entirely. It’s a transformation. People come for the burger—which is arguably one of the best in the state—but they stay because the carrots actually taste like they came out of the earth.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Tavern
There's a misconception that if a place is "farm-to-table," it has to be precious. Small portions. Tweezers. Quiet whispering. The Tavern in Cherry Hill killed that myth. It’s loud. It’s a tavern in every sense of the word. You see families with kids next to a couple on their 30th anniversary.
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The bar program is arguably as important as the kitchen. They treat spirits and hops with the same regional obsession. If you’re looking for a generic domestic light beer, you’re in the wrong zip code. They lean heavily into the tri-state's craft scene. Kane, Tonewood, Tired Hands—these aren't just names on a tap handle; they are neighbors. The wine list follows suit, focusing on producers who aren't masking their grapes with excessive oak or additives. It’s transparent drinking.
The Bloody Mary and the Brunch Crowd
Brunch in the suburbs is usually a nightmare of overcooked eggs and bottomless mimosas that taste like acid reflux. Farm and Fisherman NJ treated brunch like a serious service. The Bloody Mary garnish isn't a stale celery stalk. It’s a rotating cast of pickled vegetables, often preserved in-house during the height of the previous season.
- The Bloody Mary uses house-made mix.
- The bread is baked daily, often utilizing heritage grains.
- The bacon? Thick-cut and sourced from regional smokehouses.
- Scrapple isn't an afterthought; it’s a craft.
The Logistics of Local Sourcing
Let’s talk about the "Fisherman" part of the name. It’s easy to find a farm in Jersey. It’s harder to find a consistent, ethical line to the coast. The restaurant works with suppliers who understand the volatility of the Atlantic. When the boats can't go out because of a Nor'easter, the fish special changes. It’s that simple. You might want the scallops, but if the monkfish is what’s fresh and sustainable that morning, that’s what you’re eating.
This creates a level of trust. You’re letting the kitchen decide what’s best for you. In a world of "have it your way" customization, there is something deeply refreshing about a chef saying, "This is what is good today."
Sustainable seafood isn't just a buzzword here; it's a necessity. They avoid the overfished "big names" in favor of "trash fish" or underutilized species that are actually delicious if you know how to cook them. Porgy, bluefish, skate wing—these are the stars of the show. They require more skill to prepare than a standard slab of salmon, but the payoff is a flavor profile that’s unique to our specific stretch of the coastline.
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Why the Cherry Hill Location Matters
Cherry Hill is a land of chains. Route 70 and Route 38 are lined with every corporate dining concept ever conceived. For a long time, if you wanted "real" food, you had to cross the bridge into Philly. Farm and Fisherman NJ changed the gravity of the local food scene. It proved that you didn't need a skyscraper or a trendy urban neighborhood to support high-end, ingredient-driven cooking.
The space itself—a repurposed Perkins—is a bit of a middle finger to the corporate ghosts of the past. They took a templated, soul-less building and filled it with reclaimed wood and life. It’s a reminder that the "Garden State" isn't just a license plate slogan. Even in the middle of a sprawling suburban corridor, the connection to the land is still there if you look for it.
The Hidden Gem: The Market
Adjacent to the dining room, the market section is where the real nerds hang out. It’s where you can buy the same flour they use for the bread or pick up a jar of the pickles that changed your life during dinner. It’s a retail extension of the kitchen’s philosophy. They aren't hoarding the ingredients. They want you to take them home. They want you to see that a better pantry leads to a better life.
It’s also where you find the house-made sausages and the specific cheeses that you can’t find at the local Wegmans. It’s curated. Not in a snobby way, but in a "we spent three months finding this specific honey" way.
The Reality of the Price Point
Is it more expensive than a chain? Yes. Of course it is. You’re paying for the fact that a human being drove a truck from a farm to the back door. You’re paying for a dishwasher who is paid a living wage and a prep cook who knows how to break down a whole hog.
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But here is the thing: it’s not "expensive" for what it is. If you go to a high-end steakhouse and pay $70 for a piece of corn-fed beef from a factory farm, you’re being ripped off. If you pay $32 for a heritage pork chop at Farm and Fisherman NJ, you’re paying for the actual value of the food. There’s a difference between cost and value. Most people get them confused.
Practical Steps for the Best Experience
Don't just walk in on a Saturday night at 7:00 PM and expect a seat. This place is a machine, and the machine is always humming.
- Check the Board Immediately: Don't even look at the printed menu first. The chalkboard is the heartbeat. If something is crossed out, it’s because it was so good it's gone. That’s a good sign.
- Order the Bread: It sounds basic. It isn't. The bread program is world-class. If they have the salted butter and radishes, get them.
- Talk to the Servers: They actually know the farmers' names. Ask what came in that morning. They aren't reciting a script; they’re sharing the day’s wins.
- Explore the Spirits: Try a Jersey-based gin or a local cider. The terroir of the state extends to the fermentation tanks too.
- Don't Skip the Vegetables: Even if you’re a carnivore, the vegetable sides are often the most technically proficient dishes on the table.
A Legacy Beyond the Plate
The influence of this restaurant on the South Jersey dining landscape can’t be overstated. It paved the way for other independent chefs to take risks in the suburbs. It showed that we have an appetite for complexity and honesty.
When you eat at Farm and Fisherman NJ, you’re participating in a local economy. The money you spend goes to the server, who lives in the next town over, and the farmer in Pittsgrove, and the fisherman in Barnegat Light. It stays here. It circulates.
It’s a closed loop that starts in the soil and ends on your plate. And honestly, in a world of pre-packaged, frozen, and reheated corporate food, that’s a small miracle. It isn't just a meal; it's a vote for the kind of world you want to live in. A world where things have flavor, where seasons matter, and where the person who grew your food has a name.
Next Steps for Your Visit
Start by checking their daily social media updates or their website for the most current menu iteration, as it truly does change by the day. If you’re planning a weekend visit, book a reservation at least a week in advance through their online portal. For those who want the experience without the crowd, try a late lunch or an early weeknight dinner—the pace is slower, and the staff often has more time to dive into the specifics of the current harvest. Finally, bring a cooler in your car; you’re going to want to hit the market on your way out to grab some house-made provisions for the rest of your week.