An Interview with Chef Laura Fonner
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- 1 day ago
- 22 min read
INTERVIEWED BY M.J. PADILLA
Thanks for coming to hang out and talk with me. First, I want to know a little bit about your background.
I was born in Michigan. I was six months old when we moved here, and my mom moved here for a job at the hospital. I grew up in North Garden. My parents raised any animal you could think of and bred them in the basement—birds, rabbits. At one point there was a baby alligator somebody stole out of our backyard. Some people inherit things from their family, jewelry or something. I got a 36‑year‑old talking parrot. She hated me.
I’m the youngest of three, all separated by two years. Right before I hit elementary school, we moved into Charlottesville. My mom got remarried, and I went to Henley, but like Charlottesville to Brown’s Cove, “the holler.” If you don't know what the holler is, that's the country version of the hood. My mom was a single mom for a very long time, and I ended up doing a summer cooking class at CATEC. At Western they offered it as part of dual enrollment. I took the culinary class at CATEC for two years, but I'd been working in a restaurant since I was 14.
Since that first class at CATEC, did you know immediately, This is for me?
Yes. I'm very thankful because a lot of people go through life and they don't know what they are supposed to be doing. I found out in the most random of ways at a very young age. I remember thinking, Cool—because I don’t know if I’m going to be good at anything else. And I just went for it, working full‑time during high school. I would go to school and then go to work every night, making big bucks.
Did you have certain foods that you ate growing up that were essentials?
Hot Pockets! My staple thing that I used to make—so embarrassing—a chewy cheese sandwich. And it's called that because I would take two pieces of bread and put it in a toaster and then put sliced American cheese in between, wrap it in a paper towel, and put it in the microwave for two minutes to cook it to death.
Growing up, we were a total white family, but we celebrated Chinese New Year. Every year we'd have this really cool party, and we'd do all finger food. I would help my parents make the appetizers—I was always involved in cooking. My mom didn't really learn how to cook until she started competing with me, but my birth dad, he was a really good cook. I remember growing up with all the smells of international foods, which is where I get my love for international foods and not just, like, lasagna.
One of my first times cooking without my mother, I left the empty pan on the stove and walked away. When I came back and went to pick it up, and it had been on a hot burner for 45 minutes. And the metal melted on the bottom of the pan, and it went straight through my toe—I’ve got, like, a flat toe right on one side—and straight through the kitchen floor into the basement. And there was a fire. And I thought, I want to be a chef! My mom remembers that distinctly. She got a phone call at work.
Your first job was at Blue Bird Cafe when you were 14. How did that feel, starting out at such a young age?
I was a baby‑baby. I got raised on the streets, right, because I literally did. They were all the 24 and 25‑year‑old men, and they would take me out after work and show me the ropes. I can say this because they can't arrest me now. I'd go get hammered down at Blue Light at 15. I'm not shy, and I'm super friendly, so I instantly fit in, especially knowing that I was really good in spaces like that. At that point, I didn't know a whole lot. But I can read. I can read a recipe. And then I'm just watching them cook. It was more like a turn‑and‑burn. There was powdered hollandaise, it wasn't made from scratch. We did like 300 people for brunch—there's no way anybody's keeping up with that amount of hollandaise.
And I was there until I was 18. I graduated high school, and then within six months, I ended up getting pregnant. I was not with her dad. My mom helped me a ton. She watched my daughter while I pursued my career.
I left Blue Bird because I had my daughter, and they said, “We'll help you with some childcare stuff. We'll put a Pack ’n Play upstairs and a monitor.” I'm thinking, “I'm not leaving my baby upstairs with this side door open on West Main Street out behind there.” So, I quit my job and then, old school, right—looked in the newspapers, the actual newspaper, the yellow pages or whatever.
And I saw an ad for a place called Duner’s, and I'm like, “I think I know them.” And I went out there and I'm looking at the menu, and I couldn't pronounce half the words, so I asked, “Can I have this? Can I take this with me so I can go home and study it?”
So I'm there, at 19, with a three‑month‑old daughter. And they gave me a chance, they they hired me on as a prep cook, line cook. And then within two years of being there, I got moved up to sous chef. And then two years later, I became the chef, and then I was there for 17 years. From a young lady to a woman, all in one space.
I was set to buy it in 2020, and it was two months before the paperwork was going to be signed, the owner was going to retire. Everything was ready to go. And then the pandemic hit, and then everything got ripped out from under me. And he said, “I don't think I'm going to be ready to sell it.”
And then Duner’s went into takeout like everybody did during the pandemic. What I didn't anticipate is the level of takeout that was going to happen, because it's a small community out in Ivy. Like four grand in takeout sales a night, it was me, six days a week. Everybody got let go, furloughed, and I was left with a really wonderful dishwasher and my pastry chef who, at that time, she was in her very early 50s. I was there more than I was before the pandemic. Six and a half days a week. It was killing me. So I ended up walking away. I thought, I don't know if this is going to be here on the other side, that level of dining. Nobody knew.
This industry is always categorized as “not a real job” and that drives me nuts because I really do work hard. Just because it's not nine to five and I can wear leggings, that doesn't demote the importance of it. Any job that somebody has, that they really want to do, is an artistic outlet. And this is my way of showing my art and my inside, but on a plate every day. It's instant satisfaction or instant dissatisfaction.
Do you remember at Duner’s, or maybe before at Blue Bird, a dish you made and it was the first dish that felt “you”?
That's a great question, because there's so much controversy about this dish because I did get called out for cultural appropriation for it. My dumplings, my Asian dumplings. I make my dough from scratch, and I spent 10 years perfecting it. It's literally flour, salt, and water, so there's a lot of room for error. I've been trained in my career to teach people, and I say, “So you got to knead it until it feels like a cloud.” They're like, “Fonner, I've never touched a cloud.” Me neither. I imagine that's what it feels like.
So that, because it was me not being “classically trained.” And a female. Within this industry, being a female is hard. From the outside—with the customers—it's easier, because they're thinking, ‘Oh, it's a woman,’ and I'm nurturing and I'm motherly, and they see that. But when you're on the inside, it's seen as a weakness.
But I can lead any boys’ club. I'll tell you, there's a boys’ club in town, and I won't work for them. And I was gypsy cheffing for a while in the last five years, and I decided I'm not working for the boys. They don't need me. They got boys.
But think about it. It's old school. I dated a guy that was 15 years older than me, and I couldn't change the way he thought about women or just generational stuff. And it's because that's how they grew up, and it wasn't on me to fix him. It's the same with the boys’ club. And granted, they really do love me. The boys’ club loves me. I’ve got to be faster than them, stronger than them, smarter than them. I don't have to be, but in my brain, that's my route to success—and it worked. So I can't say that it was wrong. But I'm naturally aggressive. I call myself aggressively passive. I bring people together and want to work.
Do you have any lessons that you learned from that formative time that you use today? Or how did your self‑taught style shape how you cook?
Well, how I cook and how I lead. Because at this point in my career, I'm a teacher. I'm not getting any younger, so now I'm looking for people to share my secrets with. Because it’s been 27 years I've been in the industry and I don't want to just give that to anybody. The biggest thing that I have learned is patience. Patience gives you the ability to hear people. Everyone is so unique and different, and you can't speak to everyone in the same way. If you're a good leader and a good chef and really good at your craft, then you can take the time to get to know the people and learn how they need to hear something, or how they listen. It only takes one person to say yes and give you a chance. I want to be that person forever.
The biggest thing that I have learned is patience. Patience gives you the ability to hear people. Everyone is so unique and different, and you can't speak to everyone in the same way. If you're a good leader and a good chef and really good at your craft, then you can take the time to get to know the people and learn how they need to hear something, or how they listen. It only takes one person to say yes and give you a chance. I want to be that person forever.
Everything that I've gone through in my career and losing Siren, I wish I had somebody to look up to and see that it's okay to fail. But I didn't, and now I've paved my own path for other people, and it's this beautiful, Okay, it's fine. It's only hard the first time. Not to say failing continuously is any good but I'm a yes person. I don't ever want to wonder What if? But that is usually to my detriment. I forever hire from The Haven. I'm not giving anyone a second chance when it's my first time meeting you—that's not how it is, but in their opinion, that's what I'm doing.
The way I grew up and the way I came up in this industry has molded me in that way. And then, I'm kind of crazy. So my food reflects that. You'll see Simon Davidson, he'll text me, “Did you consult over here at, like, whatever restaurant?” “Why?” He'll texts, “Because it tastes like you.” And I'm like, “Shut up!” And it's not just because it's the same dish I would put anywhere, I do weird shit that makes you think. Because why not? How do we know it won't work until you try it? And how am I supposed to inspire this new generation coming up? This generation is different, but they all became feral during the pandemic. So we're trying to “un‑feral” them.
I take it very personally. I have a sous chef over at Beer Run right now. He's 24, and I'll eat a lot of his shifts. I don't want to teach this 24‑year‑old to work yourself to death. I'm already too far gone. My ship has sailed. That's my future, but it doesn't have to be that.
And essentially, when the pandemic hit, it remolded the industry. Obviously, everybody started making more money, which was wonderful because nobody made enough. I want to be the reason why a 24‑year‑old wants to do this for the rest of their life. And not because I'm overworking myself, but because I have that passion to do it right this time.
I want customers to taste my mood that day. Because that's so much fun. Food is experiences and memories, and my advice is treat it like that. If you're just opening up a restaurant because you think it's cool, it's nothing but work. They can taste your passion, or they can't taste your passion. And then they'll be return customers or not.
What would your advice be to young professionals that want to start a restaurant?
You have to offer a product that is unique. Most people think that chefs are pretty arrogant, and we have to be. I opened my own restaurant, and I didn't open it expecting everybody to line up and come knocking on my door. If I don't provide an atmosphere and an experience that they can't get anywhere else, then that's on me, I f*cked my one job up. My advice is: do it for the right reasons. Do it because you have a message and an art that you need to get out, and this is the only way you can translate. I believe in recipes, don't get me wrong, but I call them “guidelines.” Because for example, every jalapeño is a different level of hot. You can go down to the gram, you can go down to the ounce, you can write a recipe, but there are variables that are out of our control. And that's the beauty of life, the beauty of food.
I want customers to taste my mood that day. Because that's so much fun. Food is experiences and memories, and my advice is treat it like that. If you're just opening up a restaurant because you think it's cool, it's nothing but work. They can taste your passion, or they can't taste your passion. And then they'll be return customers or not.
It's a hard business, especially in this town. There's so many beautiful culinary artists in this town. None of us are competing against each other. Here, it's just so small and so together, and we all have our unique styles. It's not like a cut‑copy‑paste restaurant everywhere you go. You're only going to survive if you offer something that tastes like you.
I did this event outside of D.C. one time. This is my favorite career moment. I had Siren open, and it was this event celebrating the best female chefs in Virginia. I was honored to be a part of it. But I had to stay up all night because I had dinner service on a Saturday. The event was Sunday, and I got done cleaning my kitchen at 11:30 at night. So it was 3:30 in the morning, and I'm making this sauce for this wild rockfish dish, and I had music on. I'm thinking, “Oh my God, this sauce tastes like this song.” I drive all the way to D.C., and nobody knew what they were doing. I'm in this library with a pancake griddle cooking 300 portions of rockfish. I'm like, “Okay, guys, so I was up at 3:30 in the morning—chef life—making this sauce.” And I had them all pull up the song that I listened to, and they tasted music. It was the most beautiful thing ever. The love that I had for what I was making at 3:30 in the morning translated, and it was just the looks on these people's faces. That's why I do it.
You put magic into it.
Well, that's what food is. Everybody can do a cheeseburger. Everybody does tacos. But it's your magic in it that makes you stand out. That's how I still do this, after all these years. I've had some hard moments in my career where I’ve wondered, What am I doing? Should I try something else? But nothing else will satisfy me. Literally.
I feel very lucky. Very lucky. I feel very sad for people that are just going through the motions daily, and they're content being partially miserable, just going day to day. I have no game plan. I don't expect to live past 50, but I would rather live than just “be here.”
How do you define success without recognizing what failure feels like? I didn't think about that until the Siren stuff happened, but it was like, “Did I fail? I don't know. Did I?” Technically, yes. On paper, yes. But mentally and professionally and personally, not a chance.
You were on Guy’s Grocery Games. Did winning that change your life, either professionally or personally?
I've been on eight episodes. I've won $65,000. I won the first one, then I won a five‑week tournament, and then I won another tournament, and there is actually an episode that's airing next year that I taped in June.
I've got a bubbly personality, and I'm a people person, but my life just was in the spotlight. I've had people chase me down at a stoplight, and I'm like, Really?
It was fun, but I didn't realize the significance of it. Because, you know, local hometown girl. But I'm so unhinged, that's the kind of show for me. Give me 30 minutes—I feel like I'm in my own house. That was a really, really amazing experience. And eight episodes later, I still keep in contact with all of the chefs that I competed with all across the country, from Hawaii to Washington State, Maine.
What was it like on set?
It's a warehouse in Santa Clara. They fly you to San Francisco, in this pimp‑ass suite. You get up at 6:30 in the morning to go film for an entire day—just one episode. The tournament was three days; we filmed five episodes in three days. It was a lot. I cried myself to sleep every night because I get anxiety. I don't know; I've never been chased around by cameramen.
It's a big, vulnerable thing to expose yourself to.
I kept thinking, You're going to fail, you're going to do it on national TV. But I guess technically, it's not failing because you're there and you're on TV and you're already recognized. But you don't think about that when you're there. As soon as they say, “3‑2‑1, go,” you forget how to f*cking cook.
How did you calm yourself?
I thrive in chaos. So my anxiety turned into, I do know what the f*ck I'm doing. This is just a grocery store. Every grocery store is literally set up the exact same—international aisle, condiment aisle, produce, the meat and dairy. It's the same. Be smart and narrow it down instantly. It's different than any other cooking show because every other cooking show, they say, “Here's what you use.” But this is an entire grocery store and all of the sudden you have ten dishes in your head.
And I have the worst resting kitchen face-- I only learned that watching myself on TV. Oh, fix that, Fonner, fix it. But I always use the phrase, You don't have to look good to cook good. I came to California to win some money for my cooking, and not to look good on camera. If we were, why didn't you give me a makeup artist? Where's my hair lady? You're lucky I'm wearing a hair cap.
Bringing things back to home turf, I’ve read that you've done volunteer work helping feed Charlottesville’s homeless.
Oh, that was such a good spot in my life! I did that for three years. One day I got asked to be a volunteer server for one of the PACEM dinners. That's a program that is stemmed off of The Haven. During the winter months, PACEM coordinates with all the churches here, and they'll house men and women in different places, one week at a time. They'll get cots and everything donated, and they just set up shop, and each night, somebody comes in and makes them dinner. It's 90 men and 60 women sometimes, for all the cold months, about four months out of the year.
So I went, and I was in charge of serving spaghetti, and I thought, I am so f*cking embarrassed right now. Just because they're homeless doesn't mean that this is what they should eat.
And I'm thinking, I've got the resources. So I hit up all of my restaurant owner friends, “Sundays, what do you got left over?” And we had a sign‑up list, and I would do all the legwork. I spent a lot of money personally, but I didn't care. I needed that for me, too. Not that I was trying to “do right” in my world, but I just needed that.
On Tuesdays, I would have a sign up with everyone in the community, and I would get volunteers, I'd make all this food, and then we'd have this big buffet line. And for three years we did that. Once the pandemic hit, they closed down anybody coming from the outside to help, they had a state‑funded program. So it still continued, but without someone like me. That's actually how I got recognized and asked to compete on TV. The first episode was a charity one. It was a whole lot, but I had every restaurant in Charlottesville—it was so beautiful.
My kids would come every week with me, and they'd help serve. It was good. And the best part about that is that a lot of those members from there—Haven’s right here, on the Mall—and when I started helping Brasserie reopen after the pandemic, and working finally on the Downtown Mall, these guys would walk me to my car at night so I would get there safe.
You said you're starting a new job soon. Tell me all about it.
I’m at Beer Run now, I've been there for a little over a year, and I love it. It’s like a fancy diner. Everything's from scratch. Everything's organic, local, thoughtful. But if anyone’s been watching my career, they know these last five years have been really hard. From leaving Duner’s, to the food truck, to opening a restaurant and having to close it, and then just gypsy cheffing. I was at the same place for 17 years. I'm a loyal moth*****r. These last five years have just been out of character, but really shown me who I am and given me my voice in a way that I didn't have before.
I got scouted out for a job in Staunton. It’s been open for 18 years, and they are a farm‑to‑table, Southern. I turned it down for a while because I wasn't looking for a job. The Beer Run owners are some of the best people I've ever worked for and with—and I say “for and with” because that's how they made me feel. But I had to choose me. And I think after my last five years, I'm finally ready to do it again.
You always wonder if you're good enough or if you still got it. Well, I still f*cking got it. I do. And I know I do. And I've always shown little splashes of it because I side‑hustle all these private fine‑dining events—I’ve always done it. But to be able to make it my focus again, and to have people taste my mood that day? Staunton's going to be new for me, but now here I am, willing to drive 45 minutes each day to go f*ck around and find out.
It must be nice to get back to some—not normalcy—where you're going to be, who is going to be working, you're in control, and your opinion matters.
It reminds me of all the things—everything I've done collectively in my entire career. I'm the best at what I'm about to go back to, and that is pretty food that tells a story. We always eat with our eyes first. But we want to use our ears first too. If you can translate your story and why you made that dish and inspire your servers.
I always hate the front‑of‑the‑house/back‑of‑the‑house difference, there's that wall, and it's like, why? They're my face, because I'm not coming out of this kitchen. And if I'm mean to them, then they're going to think, “Whatever, she sucks.” I can tell you why I made that and my story behind it—go translate that over—and it just makes it make sense. And that is probably one of the reasons why I am as successful as I am, because I believe in communication with front of house and back of house. I don't make a dish without a story. I made this because of the color of the sky this morning. Literally. My brain, it works that way.
You’re describing food as an art form…
It is! It can look good and it can taste good, but it tastes even better and you will remember it forever if there is an artistic level and a connection to it. I don't like to cater weddings, but I will select a few every few years. And when I sit the couple down, I ask, “What did you guys have to eat on your first date? What did you have to eat when you met your mom‑in‑law?” And never having known these people, I will recreate what I think, and they’ll say, “That tastes like that day.” And I'm like, Yes!
That's what food is. The things I make are because it reminds me of things that make me happy, not because it tastes good and I just made it up right then and there. I design plates—I plate them in the way that they're supposed to eat them, because it's my fault if they don't know how to eat it. Because you went fine dining, and they can't figure it out because it's too artistic. But it can be artistic and built in a way where it's naturally eaten how it should be, and then it makes sense. I'm weird.
How do you balance family with the chaotic lifestyle that is hospitality?
I had my first kid when I was 19. So all of my kids were bred into this world, into my life. They don't know anything different from Mom. I have gotten to a point in my career where, yes, I will work 75 hours a week for you. I will—80, 90. But these are the nights that I can't. This is my family time. It's hard, but it's doable. And that was one of my things because I always say, any statistic there was going to be—single mom, female chef—I'll go headfirst into it, and then I beat it. It's just my personal mission in life.
But I want to show other women in this industry that you can have both. There are a lot of people that drop out of it because they might think, “I can’t do this and have a family too.” You can. And granted, it was a lot easier when I was married because he was my backbone, and he still is one of my best friends and my biggest fan. But, like, it isn't your job or your kids. Incorporate your kids into your job. Teach them why you're passionate about what you do and why you work so hard. Specifically with my own career, I do live quite a public life. My kids’ teachers will say, “I saw your mom on the news or on TV,” and then it makes it make sense for them. They're like, “Oh, wow, she's cool.” I pretend, Yeah, cool. But I have no clue.
Our characters are not defined by the situations that we're in, or how we got there. We're defined by how we react and move forward.
If you could go back to your first day in the kitchen when you were 14, what piece of advice would you give to your younger self?
I would just acknowledge the fact that patience is the key. I have the patience of a saint and I will wait forever, but I was already pretty good at that. I was kind of the black sheep of my family, and that kitchen was my safe zone.
Or that nothing's ever going to be okay—make the best of it. Our characters are not defined by the situations that we're in, or how we got there. We're defined by how we react and move forward. And it takes a grown‑up brain to know that.
I would tell my little self, “You're doing f*cking great.”
You're doing great. And this is part of the dream that is the bigger thing.
There's no end‑all. There isn't. I always say, How bad can it be? And then I'm like, Well, don't keep saying that.
It takes those terrible moments to kind of define your character.
Absolutely, and to see what you're made of. I don't care what people say—at a very young age, you have the ability to make your own choices on a daily basis.
You've got to trust that intuition, because you had that all along. How has the Charlottesville food community changed since you started all those years ago?
Oh man, so much. But not in a negative way. The pandemic really put us all out on a platform and showed us who we were. There was no hiding, and honestly, worldwide, we were all on the same starting line again. Nobody knew if they were going to have a job—it doesn't matter what your career was. I woke up and thought, It's f*ck‑this‑shit‑o’clock. I left my husband after 15 years. I left my 17‑year job. I signed a lease for a restaurant and filed for the divorce the same day. But the restaurant business—you got to see everybody for who they were. And I was so pleasantly surprised by how good the people in Charlottesville are. Everybody came together and it was so amazing. The difference between 14 and 41—it's huge, man. I'm the grown‑up that I used to think, Well, they got their shit together.
I always assumed that grown‑ups were different. But now that I'm older, it's just us. But that's also a beautiful thing, because you do never grow up if you nurture that childlike wonder and bring that innocence.
And [children] are not jaded by the world, and it's a beautiful way to live. I always wonder when somebody loses that in their life, and it's always different and unique to each person. But what a thing to lose in life, you know? I've lost it, but I've gotten it back. And now I can appreciate it. I want to surround myself with people that want me to be the best version of myself. And they don't want anything from me, and I don't need anything from them, and we just exist on a level of happiness and respect. And that's a perfect way to live.
For people visiting Charlottesville for the first time, what are two things you tell them to eat, experience, or just revisit about Charlottesville?
So, obviously the Downtown Mall. Green Cauldron is my favorite witchy store. The Mall is such a historical part of Charlottesville, and there's so many cool little shops, and you really get to see the uniqueness of food—literally, from Bagby’s to The Livery. The amount of art and beauty and—well, you know how hard it is to thrive and survive on the Downtown Mall. It's passion. I'm not saying that any other restaurant, any other business that isn't on the mall isn't as thoughtful, but…
Also, the mall is eight blocks full of—not competition—but different places where people can eat. How are you going to make that customer choose you?
Well, it is. And that goes back to: provide them a service that they can't find anywhere else. The key to success.
What is your perfect night out or in, and how has that changed from earlier days?
My perfect night in is bed by seven, then I'll wake up at midnight and wonder, What day of the week is it? I'm a big homebody right now because I'm redefining myself. And, I don't know, I don't date anymore. I gave up on that. I figure, I'm really good at my career. I'm going to go back in that, and if something falls in my lap—a handsome man—we'll see.
Ooh, will you make him a nice dinner?
Maybe, maybe not. Let's see how much he cooks first.
Maybe he'll cook you a Hot Pocket, full‑circle moment.
One of the worst things about being a chef is nobody wants to invite you to dinner, because they're like, “I guess I have to whip up something that a chef would eat.” M*therf*cker, make me a hot dog. The cheapest 99‑cent pack you can buy.
Is there anything else that you'd like for Charlottesville to know or that you're excited about?
I mean, I'm really excited about my new job. I really am. I finally feel I've gone through what I needed to in the last five years to find myself enough to go back to what I excel at. I live a pretty public life. When I need to say something, I say it. I say what other people think. And not in a negative way, but in a way where I wish more people said what they thought, because we're all generally thinking it. If we all say it, then we can find a solution if it's an issue. You come to me with something, and if there's an issue but you don't give me a solution, there's no issue because you haven't thought about it. I really, pretty much, am unhinged. And very menopausal.
You’ve figured it out.
I think that's the best way to be. You really don't know what you're capable of until you go for it and take those risks. And anything that is worth it is scary, it's terrifying. It might not work out, but it'll lead you to a path that works for something different. Why not? I've never been able to answer that in another way than just go for it.
Thank you so much for sitting down with me, and thank you for telling me some of your story. You've had a fascinating life.
I wouldn't change it for anything. You know what I mean?
