If you have driven the Route 70 corridor through Cherry Hill lately, you know the drill. You come off the I-295 interchange, navigating the weave of cars, and you see the landscape blurring past—a mix of old strip malls, shiny new facades, and the eternal construction cones. For years, this stretch was defined by big-box retail. But recently, the smell of asphalt has been replaced by the scent of searing hibachi grills.
A new player has opened its doors just steps from the interchange: Sushi Boss. While it bills itself as a premier destination for Japanese cuisine, it represents more than just a new place to grab dinner. It marks a pivot point for the entire neighborhood. The retail boxes are dying, and the “experience economy” is moving in to take their place.
From Furs to Fried Rice
To understand why Sushi Boss matters, you have to look at the ghost of what was here before. Cherry Hill’s built environment has always been a “palimpsest”—a fancy way of saying we keep writing new stories over old ones. This site, located near the Ellisburg Circle, used to be Georgia’s Fur and Leather. It was a landmark dedicated to goods: coats, luxury items, things you put in a bag.
But the economy changed. The “Why” behind this new opening is simple survival. The landlords along Route 70 realized that while people can buy winter coats online, they can’t download a spicy tuna roll. “The model that dominates here is shifting,” notes a local planner. This location was reimagined to capture the one thing the internet can’t kill: the family dinner. It’s a transition from a “transactional” space to a “gathering” space, filling a void in the I-295 corridor for high-volume, sit-down dining.
The Kitchen Hustle
Running a dining establishment on a highway artery requires a specific kind of intensity. Sushi Boss isn’t a slow-paced bistro; it’s a logistical machine. The “hustle” is visible the moment you walk in. The kitchen acts as a high-speed assembly line designed to feed hundreds of commuters in a tight window.
It mirrors the traffic outside—fast, continuous, and high-volume. For the local workforce, this is a new engine. Restaurants like this are vital entry-level employers, providing first jobs for teens and second chances for others. It’s a grind—on your feet for eight hours, managing the Friday night rush—but it brings a heartbeat back to a building that sat quiet for too long.
The “Exit 34” Connection
For those of us who live in Ellisburg or Barclay, or for the tired commuter peeling off I-295 at 6:00 PM, this opening hits close to home. We all have that moment: you’ve been stuck in traffic on the interstate, you’re hungry, and you just want options. The personal connection here is convenience. It’s the ability to text your spouse, “Meet me at Sushi Boss off the exit,” and know you’ll be seated.
However, it brings a neighborhood tension, too. “New dining destinations draw peaks,” warns the traffic data. We love the food, but we watch the turning lanes on Marlton Pike with a wary eye, hoping the new popularity doesn’t turn our short drive home into a gridlock nightmare.
Control in an Inflationary Economy
So, what is the actual draw? In an economy where grocery prices are spiking, the menu offers a sense of control and variety.
The Sushi: A massive selection of rolls, nigiri, and sashimi that caters to both the adventurous eater and the “California Roll only” crowd.
The Hibachi: The theater of the grill—loud, hot, and prepared fresh.
The Location: You aren’t driving deep into the suburbs; you are right off the arterial vein of the county.
It’s a concept designed for the modern suburban family: loud enough for kids, fast enough for workers, and diverse enough that no one argues over the bill.
A New Identity
As the neon “Open” sign flickers on, Sushi Boss stands as a small stroke in a larger portrait. South Jersey’s identity is being rewritten in these spaces where highway ramps meet neighborhood streets. The drive behind this opening is a bet that Cherry Hill is still the commercial heart of South Jersey.
The story worth following isn’t just who opened, but how we adapt to it. As we navigate the new parking patterns and try the spicy mayo, we are participating in the next chapter of Route 70’s evolution.
