My Montreal Kitchen Remodel Was Too Perfect—Here’s How I Messed With It

PublishedOct 9, 2022 1:00 AM EDT

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OK so here’s the thing—halfway through my own kitchen reno, I started researching a book about creative kitchen design. I basically ended up writing the manual I wish I’d had before I started (facepalm, I know). So while Uncommon Kitchens is packed with killer advice for renters and renovators, my finished space proves I still had plenty to learn. Trust me, note to self: next time, write the book FIRST.

Here’s my honest take though: it’s never too late or too pricey to level up your space, and honestly people take this way too seriously. Your kitchen can be just as flexible and creative as any other room—you just have to let it be. Everyone treats kitchen design like a one-and-done decision (hence all those “safe” greige tiles—I see you), but honestly the kitchen deserves little upgrades too.

OK but the happiest kitchens, in my opinion? They’ve got joy-sparking color, pieces that feel like actual furniture (not just hulking appliances and built-ins), and room to switch things up—whether that’s a new rug, some art on the walls, or cute vintage finds cluttering up the windowsill.

So this house—a gorgeous 1905 brick beauty with seriously intimidating molding in a little Montreal village—was our family’s first real house (no more apartment life!). The kitchen had been redone in the 1950s and was basically untouched since. Honestly, I would’ve kept the whole room as-is—call them dated if you want, but slab-front cabinets are forever classics—but the electrical was a no-go. And sadly, getting to those wires meant the cupboards had to come down, which meant starting the whole room from scratch.

My designer friend Celia Bryson came on to oversee the reno, and I handed over my inspo pics of quirky British kitchens plus my appliance wish list—namely that crimson Fisher & Paykel range I’d become low-key obsessed with. (It looks analog but it’s actually induction—so safe and healthy!) That oxblood red ended up on the cabinets (it’s close to Benjamin Moore’s Hodley Red), and the range went jet black for a nice pop. Once I was sold on one Fisher & Paykel piece, I just committed to the brand for everything. Their signature dish drawers are honestly rad—two little dishwasher units in the space of one. And most of my designer besties gave them the thumbs-up too.

Celia found the honed soapstone, and honestly it’s the prettiest backdrop for bowls of fruit and veg—so dramatique! It’s also super hard-wearing and doesn’t stain. You might get little fissures, which is totally normal, but honestly that doesn’t bother me at all. The most beautiful rooms I’ve ever seen and written about all show signs of being lived in—it’s universal. Designing for permanent perfection makes zero sense, and frankly it feels a little insecure. Wear and tear isn’t just expected in a hardworking kitchen, it’s encouraged. Think ripped jeans, friends!

Commune Design and Heidi Caillier both did this sweet arched detail on cabinet profiles, and I was obsessed—I pushed hard for it. It’s just enough look without being something you’d get sick of. (But then again, we’re the family that said yes to burgundy cupboards, so clearly fear is not driving any decisions over here lol.) Celia designed a proper cabinetry plan that actually made the too-big room work, including dish drawers—which I wanted in the way some people want designer handbags.

OK honestly, the whole thing turned out so gorgeous it kind of haunted me. I tacked a piece of art up high just to break up all that uniform color. All my cookbooks found a home lined up on the counter, mixing in color and shapes where there were big blank stretches. But something about fresh cabinetry against a drywall background just felt… gross to me. So months later I commissioned these rose-colored plaster walls (more on those in a sec).

Celia designed this genius worktable with deep drawers for kitchen towels and school lunch bags, plus a built-in spot for paper towels. The legs give the space so much airiness—it doesn’t feel hulking the way an island can. That piece and the pantry have totally different paint schemes so the room doesn’t get too matchy-matchy. The table and lower pantry cabinets are in a shade close to Farrow & Ball’s Downpipe, which looks super dark on the chip but is one of those magical colors that shifts beautifully with the light. I even swapped oxblood knobs for blue ones here and there just to keep things interesting.

OK so there was a moment in this kitchen where one side was getting gorgeous, and the other side—the breakfast room—was completely charmless. I genuinely thought the big windows and deep molding would carry the space somehow, but I was so wrong. Honestly, the budget was running out too—I’d had Celia manage the high-performing half of the room plus lighting, while I took on the breakfast room myself.

So in came art, more art, vintage furniture…and it still felt barren. I finally landed on that wall treatment I mentioned to give the space more body. Lime plaster—a thin coat of lime-based paint swooshed on in patterns—added this old-world, gorgeously dilapidated grandeur to the basic drywall. (Full disclosure: I nicked this idea from Matilda Goad’s famous kitchen.) Drywall is the enemy, friends—the less of it, the better. A sweet pendant lamp made sitting at the table feel more intimate, and a pop of zesty citrus on the window insets brought it all to life. (Hat tip to Toronto design royalty Karl Lohnes for the color—I’d previously considered off-black or Yves Klein Blue.)

We made just one small layout change: reorienting the pantry entrance so we could have walk-in food storage, plus fridge and freezer drawers hidden behind cabinetry fronts. There’s a bar sink near the tea and coffee station too, though honestly it rarely gets used. But the pantry has two things I’m obsessed with: shelves and shelves of pretty bric-a-brac that bring me so much joy, and a fridge drawer that gets a ton of action. You can adjust the temp for fruits and veggies, or crank it colder for overflow wine and beer when you’re hosting.

The pantry walls are painted the cheeriest shade—the iconic Farrow & Ball India Yellow—which is such a sure thing I barely even tested it. (Real talk: by this point in the reno I had legit debilitating decision fatigue.) My sister in Maine salvaged this jigsawed trim for the low shelves. It was super common above sinks and windows in the 1950s and people rip it out all the time, but honestly it’s so sweet!

There’s no “thank god we gutted it!” ending to this story. I still look at the before photos and feel a little wistful, ngl. It was a sweet, homey kitchen with some questionable wiring, and I honestly wonder if just adding a circuit breaker and some burgundy paint would’ve done the trick.

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