Steven Kurutz consults three experts, each at a different price level, and asks them to create a plan to transform a tiny kitchen.
Apartments are much like romantic partners: You are unlikely to get everything on your checklist, no matter how far and wide you search. Consider the brownstone apartment that I call home. When I found it on Craigslist, I wasn't fazed by the dark, narrow kitchen that hadn't been updated since the early 1960s. I'm not a big cook, and I don't hold dinner parties. There wasn't even enough space for a microwave, but then again, I don't use one. The two metal cabinets stuck on the wall had a certain period charm. Over time, the drawbacks became more noticeable. The kitchen, which sits between the bedroom and the living room, is tiny and barren-feeling, with only the two poorly configured cabinets above the sink and nothing on the opposite wall. There's not much in the way of prep or counter space. There is no space for culinary gadgets of any kind - not even a toaster. I've been thinking about what I could do to update the kitchen and make it more functional.
I wanted modern-looking cabinets that would maximise storage in the 95-sq-ft space, at least a little counter space and new flooring to replace the tired linoleum. I consulted three experts, each at a different price level, and asked them to create a plan to transform the space.
The middle road
"It's a kitchen in a hallway," said Gita Nandan, standing in front of my stove one morning. Nandan, a partner in a design firm specialising in sustainable architecture, was equally direct about the other challenges. "When you have these mini kitchens," she said, "by the time you get in the stove and sink and refrigerator, you only have a 24- or 48-inch space left over for doing everything else."
How about blowing out the room to get more square footage? How about an open kitchen? "In this situation," Nandan said, "you're probably not going to do any of that." The budget we agreed on prohibited a "monster renovation." Instead, her redesign would work within the existing parameters, she said, while being "super space-efficient and super functional." Still, Nandan identified two easy structural changes I hadn't considered. By moving the doorways on either side of the kitchen a foot in one direction, a recessed nook could be created on the empty wall. There, built-in cabinets would provide storage, shelving and a shallow pantry. She also suggested knocking out part of that wall and pushing into the bedroom closet, so the refrigerator could be moved into the recessed space, where it would be flush with the built-ins. "You could put a wood-panel door on it so it looks like a piece of cabinetry," she said. Two weeks later, she presented three plans. The first had the built-in pantry, with upper and lower cabinets and a counter in between, but it left the refrigerator where it was. It gave me much-needed counter space, and by not knocking into the closet, I'd be cutting the cost in half. But I'd also be forfeiting the extra prep space and sleek look of a built-in that would result from moving the fridge. Nandan agreed.
"It still has the same sensibility as your cheapest, dumbest kitchen, because it's the same shape objects next to each other," she said. The second, "expanded" plan moved the refrigerator into the closet, creating an additional two feet of counter space. It also altered the configuration of the pantry wall: There were still upper cabinets, but the lower ones were gone and the centre countertop was cantilevered and extended into the foyer.
This lightened the space visually and connected it to the living area, without overwhelming the room with a wall of wood. A slightly altered version of that plan took the top cabinets to the ceiling to create more storage. All three plans had an oven, a cooktop and a tile backsplash, and they replaced the linoleum with hardwood that matched the flooring throughout the apartment.
On the cheap
Nandan mentioned that her firm sometimes designed custom kitchens that combined inexpensive cabinets of well-known furniture chain with a high-end backsplash. I signed up for a measuring service and the personal planning consultation. Which is how a man named Cezary with a thick eastern European accent came to be standing in my kitchen, wielding a tape measure the way a samurai wields a Katana sword. He began rattling off a dizzying list of options and measurements. Cezary, it became evident, wouldn't be guiding the design the way an architect does. But I had Nandan's design to use as a road map. The main choice was between one row of cabinets above the sink or a "double stack" reaching the ceiling. I chose a single row, trading storage for a 10-inch breathing space above the cabinets. There would also be a new sink, a small counter and new cabinets below. Cezary came up with the best height and length for my kitchen. We discussed other details, including a backsplash and flooring that I would buy and get installed.
The high life
Let's pretend for a moment that I have the most unbelievably generous landlords and they hand me a blank cheque to renovate the kitchen. How much luxury could I stuff into 95 square feet? I posed this question to Roger Zierman, a designer for a 120-year-old German company that practically invented the modern luxury kitchen. He quickly sized up my tiny kitchen. Told there were absolutely no budget restrictions, his smile turned carnal. "We're not going to do your standard white kitchen," he said, gears turning. Days later, I met him at the company's clean, modern showroom.
Spread out on a table were samples. For the cabinets, he suggested a quarter-sawn "holm" oak with a grayish-white stain or a sandblasted "terra" pine, and aluminum for the backsplash, which has a "softer look," he said, than stainless steel. The creamy Caesarstone he picked out for the counter was similar to the blizzard style I had earlier chosen. I agreed with Zierman's choices, except for the cabinets. I have an unlimited budget, I reminded him. Doesn't the German firm offer a more impressive finish - say, rhino tusk? Zierman steered me to the "exotics," starting with Zebrano, which replicates the look of zebra wood, an endangered species, by stacking numerous layers of poplar.I pointed to a wood with the warm hue of a California sunset. What's that? "Swiss pear," Zierman said. "They do it in a satin finish or in a high-gloss."
Two weeks later, he presented me with a finished design. Some of the elements recalled Nandan's plan, like moving the doorways to create built-ins on the far wall and breaking into the bedroom closet to accommodate a 27-inch sub-zero refrigerator. The built-ins included an almost floor-to-ceiling pantry 30 inches wide and a foot deep, plenty of cabinets (in Swiss pear, with a matching horizontal grain) and a floating shelf that extended to the foyer, to hold mail and keys. But the biggest revelation was the working side of the kitchen. Along the bottom was a 24-inch oven and gas cooktop, drawers for utensil storage and a dishwasher compact enough to fit in a single drawer. On the wall above were two simple cabinets, much like the ones I have now, although these were made of high-gloss lacquer with lighted glass shelves and sliding doors, a minimal look Zierman was able to achieve by shifting storage to the pantry on the opposite wall.