Obsessed With… Kitchen Counter Benches

Given that the company I work for has a billion and one barstools to offer, you’d think that finding seating for my kitchen would be a breeze. I see gorgeous barstools and counter stools online every. Single. Day.

But no. I had to have the ONE freaking style that isn’t made anywhere but the CZECH REPUBLIC: the Thonet barstool, a design dating back to 1850, which is right around the same time my house was built. 

Lots of people make a version of the Thonet chair, in all types of materials and colors. You’ll find aluminum ones, backless ones, brightly colored ones, even updated, low-back versions produced by one of the longstanding, contracted factories for Thonet chairs, Fameg.  RH, Crate & Barrel, Ballard, Serena & Lily, and tons of others sell their own versions of these icons.

But for my kitchen, which we’re designing to have this vaguely brasserie-inspired feel, I wanted a counter-height one in a deep coffee stain, with a basic wood seat rather than caning or cushioned upholstery—essentially the chairs I sat on in every bar in Paris. Which brought me to DWR, that mecca of authentic-modern for haughty authentic-modern design lovers.  

A fascinating mini-history of Thonet chairs.

After waiting weeks for the Semiannual Sale—hell no, I’m not paying MSRP—I  ordered two. And I promptly found myself trapped in counter-stool purgatory, as my two lovely Thonet chairs are currently floating somewhere in the Atlantic en route from the Czech Republic to the good ol’ USA, with no estimated delivery date confirmed. [raises fist at Michael Thonet]

After several calls to DWR,  I naturally started searching for alternatives. At least it's something to do while I wait, right? And I stumbled upon the loveliest idea: Upholstered kitchen counter benches. 

Source: House Beautiful

Source: The Cross Interior Design

Hey now. I could totally see one of these at my island, which is big enough for precisely 2.5 stools, and imagine myself perched on one with both of my kids (figuring each one counts for .75 people) for quick meals and homework sessions.  

Dave is less convinced. “Seems hard to get in and out of,” he mused when I showed him the pics. And while I haven’t yet decided whether to go this route and abandon my bentwood originals, I’m happy to admire the options. Here are some of my faves (I’m especially loving the indigo ikat-dot one.)

1. Marcello counter bench in Ellie Indigo, $724, Ballard Designs. 2. Thibaut barstool in Cambridge Lemongrass, $2,030, South of Market. 3. Mission slipcovered dual-seat counter bench, from $771, Layla Grace. 4. Omaha gray counter bench, Standard Furniture for dealers. 5. Fitzgerald counter bench, from $1,395, Williams-Sonoma Home. 6. Andover upholstered kitchen bench, $290, Wayfair.

What do you think? Would you swap multiple bar or counter seats for a single upholstered piece?

Renovating with Kids: A Cautionary Tale

Friends and colleagues often ask how we’ve been living through our renovation, especially with two children under 5. In short, it’s not easy. It sometimes sucks quite a bit more than I let on. 

But over the last six years (I’m including a pregnancy here), I’ve arrived at a few truths—things I’ve learned the hard way, and that I’d like to share with anyone who’s considering doing the crazy and starting a project with little ones around. Here are 6 things everyone with kids should know before applying for that building permit.

1. Dust is your greatest enemy.

Every project creates dust—demolition, for sure, but also carpentry, painting and wall repairs, tiling, et cetera. And that dust will quickly get airborne, blown around, and tracked from space to space on the soles of your shoes. It’ll end up in rooms you’re not even working on. This is a guarantee.

Several years ago—I think it was when we demolished the basement—we went away for a long weekend to escape the chaos of construction. When we came back, I immediately noticed a thin layer of dust coating everything in the house, from the mantels and the stair rails to the third-floor furniture. A subcontractor had neglected to cover the air vents in the space where he was working, and the dust he produced was sucked into the ducts, blowing it across every square inch of the house.

Anyone who has toddlers knows that any unpalatable substance in your home, be it dirt, glitter, or pet hair, will inevitably end up on their hands, in their eyes, and in their mouths. And since we had no way of knowing what was in the dust (Paint? Lead? Plaster?) that had blanketed our belongings, we had no choice but to clean everything we owned. With the help of a cleaning crew and a few hundred microfiber rags, we washed and wiped everything not enclosed in a box or cabinet. Buckets of blocks, balls and plastic toys went into tubs of soapy water; every item and every surface had to be wiped with a damp rag. Every piece of furniture had to be vacuumed three times with a HEPA filter, every bed stripped, and all of our towels turbo-washed. I threw out our toothbrushes. It was the worst.

The lesson: Renovation projects become much less impactful once you learn how to manage the dust. We now use zip walls, these amazing inventions that let you seal off areas with plastic and enter and exit via a zipper system. We sometimes even build semi-permanent walls that divide the work zone from the living zone. We also triple-check to ensure the HVAC system is turned off in the work zones, and we cover and tape the vents so there’s no path for dust to travel. We place rugs or drop cloths at the entrance to the work zone, so dust won’t get tracked through the hallways. And we always keep plastic dropcloths around to keep dishes and toys dust-free.

2. You can never have enough rags.

See above. Microfiber towels, terrycloth rags, flour-sack towels, dish rags: You need them all. 

3. Insulation products look like snack food.

Ever see those huge rolls of Owens-Corning insulation in Home Depot? Yeah. Your kids will point at it and say “cotton candy,” and you will have to physically restrain them as they barrel toward the aisle with their mouths open. And when your son walks up to a recently framed-up windowsill and shouts “Pirate’s Booty,” know that he is about to pull a piece of spray foam out of the wall, and that you will intercept it two inches from his mouth.

On the left, spray insulation. On the right, delicious Booty. The confusion is understandable.

Be vigilant, mamas. Which leads me to…

4. Contractors aren’t mothers.

Even the best, most considerate contractors on the planet can’t keep an under-construction home truly safe for kids. That’s your job. You can ask electricians and plumbers to pick up after themselves, and to use the Shop-Vac at the end of each work day, but it’s unreasonable to expect them to keep everything baby-proof while also doing everything they need to get your electrical, plumbing, and other systems working. So as long as there’s construction in your home, and probably for six months after each project, be aware that there may be rogue staples on the floor, nail heads peeking out of new carpentry, bits of copper wire in the carpet, outlet covers that were removed, and more. Scan a room for hazards before letting your kids play there unattended, and sweep and vacuum whenever you have the chance.

5. You need to plan for the process, not just the end result.

Assume your project is going to take longer and be far messier than you originally plan, and find ways to make your situation sustainable for longer than you’d like. That might mean creating a temporary cooking station in the living room, buying a portable dishwasher that hooks up to the bathroom sink, converting a living room to a bedroom, or hell, even getting kitting out your backyard with an outdoor shower. (I have done three out of these four things.) This is especially important with kids, who can’t just go without bathing for a few days, crash on a friend’s sofa, or go out to restaurants for every meal. 

When renovating our current kitchen, for instance, we found a friend willing to let us cook at her house for a week and a neighbor who’d let us use their grill, and Dave used that time to build a temporary kitchen in our mudroom downstairs. Here's a pic.

Our “crazy kitchen,” as the kids called it, made from the cheapest Home Depot cabinets and counters we could get, the old sink and faucet from our previous kitchen, a compact Craigslist fridge, and a $100 convection toaster oven. It occupies what will eventually become our mudroom on the garden level. My husband installed it in three days, because apparently men from Ohio just know how to do things like that.

Sometimes it's even more complicated. Two years ago, when we ran all-new heating, electric, and plumbing, added one bathroom, and renovated another, we knew that the project was going to be too invasive to live with. For three months that turned into nearly five, we rented a nearby apartment in a high-rise. Our toddler slept in a windowless "office," our mattress was on the floor, and I was 4 months pregnant. It was noisy, inconvenient, and far from lovely, but it made our situation sustainable so that we could get the work done right, and not cut corners because we got tired of huddling in a corner of our home.

It’s all about creating interim comfort, and it's always worth it. If all goes quickly and cleanly, you can take down the interim solution earlier, move back into your finished spaces, and pat yourself on the back. But if sh*t hits the box fan and your project plan gets extended by a month, you’ll be able to chug along just fine.

6. Kids like to be involved.

All of my advice thus far has sounded pretty grim, hasn’t it? But the truth is, renovations can be a whole lot of fun for kids. A few years back, I interviewed Dana over at the amazing blog House*Tweaking about her own renovation experiences, and she told me about handing her tots a sledgehammer on demolition day. Why not? 

During this last project, after we built a temporary wall between our in-progress kitchen and the rest of the house for dust reasons, we noted that our kids liked to yell their morning “hellos” to our GC, Jimmy, through the plywood. So Dave went to the hardware store, bought a piece of Plexiglass, and had Jimmy saw a hole in the door.

Watching the new walls go up in the kitchen. 

Through this “aquarium” window, our kids watched the entire progress of the redo, stopping by a few times a day to make piggy-noses on the window and oink at the carpenters. And when it was time to place the countertops, Jimmy took down the wall and called my daughter over to write her name on the cabinetry before they glued down the marble, preserving it for posterity.

She loved it—and so did we. At the end of the day, I want my kids to know this is their home as much as ours, and the project is for them, too.  I’ve never wanted a “do not touch” home—so I’ll let them draw, hammer, and watch. 

I just won’t let them taste the insulation. 

Obsessed With... African Mudcloth

It happened at the Wellfleet Flea Market, a strange and wonderful place on Cape Cod, last summer. While browsing for random tchotchkes, I came across a table piled high with the loveliest tribal fabrics: rough textiles featuring hand-drawn, asymmetric ivory patterns on a field of indigo, charcoal, and rust tones. “African mudcloth,” the vendor explained to me. “Vintage—the real thing.”

Who knows if that was true—it’s hard to judge the cred of random vendors selling from the back of a box van. But I loved the fabric: the asymmetric edges; the bits that had been worn through with use.

As I’d already burned through my budget on a small Tibetan rug for my new kitchen ($175—score!) and a few random and quirky vintage books, I didn’t buy the mudcloth. And it has haunted me ever since.

Turns out I’m not the only one obsessed; the lovely Erin Gates at Elements of Style posted about mudcloth earlier this year, with gorgeous examples of the material being used in contemporary interiors. 

Source: Elements of Style

Design*Sponge and Apartment Therapy articles fed my fascination even more: I learned that it’s a traditional handicraft practiced in Mali, where these fabrics (known as bogolanfini) are produced primarily by men using vegetable dyes and bleach. The artisans often sew many smaller pieces together to form one giant textile, which would explain the asymmetric shapes of the scraps I found at the Wellfleet flea. Like the oh-so-trendy-but-actually-really-culturally-interesting Moroccan shag carpets you now see everywhere, African mudcloths feature one-of-a-kind patterns that tell a story about the people who created them.

If you’re the creative type, this cool site from the Smithsonian lets you practice mudcloth pattern-making online. If you like to get your upholstery on, Homepolish recently ran this awesome DIY mudcloth bench tutorial. Me? I’m the shopping type. Here are some of my current mudcloth obsessions. 

1. No. 4 mudcloth pillow, $90, LoomGoods 2. African mudcloth pillows from Michael Haskell, $249 each, 1stdibs. 3. Vintage African mudcloth, $150, Chairish. 4. Osei Duro mudcloth poncho, $128, Urban Outfitters. 5. Mali mudcloth x-bench, $128, Minda Home. 6. African indigo mudcloth pillow cover, $85, Etsy.

If I could be like Cher and turn back time, I'd buy a swath of indigo mudcloth outta that box van, then drape it over a console table in my parlor to add a bit of personality. (Added benefit: it would cover up some unfortunate dings on the edge of the table.) Tell me: How would you incorporate it into your decor? Or do you hate the look? 

My husband's mistress.

Dave has a mistress. On Saturday morning around 10:30 a.m., I told him I knew exactly what was going on. Did he think I wouldn't notice how distracted he was? How he was making excuses to leave me with the kids so he could lavish her with attention?

I can't even compete. She's in my kitchen right now. She’s not going anywhere….

…because she weighs 650 pounds.

Meet Ina. She's sturdy, hardly shy, and looooves to make prime rib.

The Capital Culinarian 48-inch self-cleaning range. Ours has a third pair of burners in place of the grill.

Ina is a Capital Culinarian, a pro-style range with 6 burners and a griddle. After years of mulling popular pro-style options like Wolf and Viking, followed by a few months exploring lesser-knowns like Dacor and Bluestar, we saw a Capital in person and knew it was right. We love cooking things that need to be seared, pan-fried, and slow-simmered, and we liked the flat grates and open burner (not sealed) system that evenly distributes the flame and gives us complete control over the heat.

For a while, a copper-hued range from the Bluestar Precious Metals Collection was my frontrunner. I loved the Bluestar’s open burners and badass style options, including the ability to customize knob color and door-swing orientation.

Copper love. 

But after playing with a Bluestar in person at a local showroom, we quickly shifted gears. The metal construction felt thin and flimsy, and every custom option I wanted raised the price by a big notch.

Tinkering with the showroom model of the Capital, on the other hand, we kept discovering awesome feature after awesome feature. The grate and burner assemblies come completely apart, so if you're like me and tend to let pots boil over, you can take everything off and clean every last crevice underneath. There are easy-slide drip pans that catch big spills. There's convection on one of the two ovens, speeding up cooking time for big roasts and gratins, and the racks are on wheels and cantilevered, so you can easily slide your pan out to check doneness.

And then, after we were already smitten, we saw this button on the right:

Schwing.

It was like getting a new girlfriend and then finding out she has a lake house. With jet skis. Dave couldn't sign the credit card slip fast enough.

Now that she’s taken up residence in our home, it’s clear she’s more Dave’s sweetheart than mine. This is what I cooked the first day she was plugged in:

No backsplash yet.... Coming soon!

Later that night, Dave had a go. He made a Spanish-inspired fried chicken with smoked paprika and crispy panko crust. Seriously. I should have known something was up.

Then, on Saturday morning, he announced the following on Instagram:

Dawning of a new era. 

And last night, I came home to this:

Food tastes better when it rotates. 

I guess Ina and I are going to have to be sister wives. Mondays he sleeps with me, Tuesdays with her, and so forth. As long as that rotisserie keeps cranking, she and I, well, we have an understanding. 

Anyone have any great rotisserie recipes? What should Ina tackle next? Let me know in the comments...

Honed v. Polished Marble: A Tale of Two Countertops

For months I’ve been looking forward to the arrival our new marble countertops. If you’ve seen my master bath, you know I have a thing for marble, and the kitchen wasn’t about the be spared. Marble counters were a core piece of the design, and style-wise, one of the only non-negotiables on our list. 

One of our Imperial Danby marble slabs in the warehouse with one of our cabinet doors. Danby marble is quarried in Vermont, and it's the same marble used in Arlington National Cemetery. Who doesn’t like cemetery marble?

We’d been warned about using marble in the kitchen. It’ll stain, we were told. It’ll etch, they said. Don’t think about putting anything acidic near your counters, they all cried.

What all of these warnings assume, however, is that we wanted FANCY marble. Immaculate marble. Shiny marble that screams I’m luxurious, bitches.

I do not want that kind of marble. 

I want marble that shows signs of life. Countertops where we roll out pasta and pour flights of wine for our friends. I once went to a photo shoot at a home that had stunning, polished white Carrara marble counters; they shone like mirrors. The homeowners kept sheets of clear Plexiglass on the countertops, and we were under strict instructions not to place ANYTHING ACIDIC within splashing distance of the kitchen counters. No vinegar, juice, or even mayonnaise.

That’s just stupid. I'm not going to let stupid stand between me and my lovely, liveable marble. Do you think all of those Parisian brasseries and East Coast oyster bars refuse to serve white wine or lemon vinaigrette because it might leave a mark on their white marble countertops? No. They wipe up the mess, dim the lights, and ask you if you’d like another Chenin Blanc. 

One of the inspirations for our kitchen design: the bar at Boston’s Neptune Oyster. Source: Haute Living

Call the marble police, but I’m going to (gasp) cook things in my kitchen. We’re going with honed marble rather than polished, as it’s what we’ve seen and loved at bars and restaurants. The finish is flat rather than mirror-shiny, so there’s less reason to worry about visible damage. And after we chose Imperial Danby white marble for its warm tones and consistent veining, which would help camouflage any marks, we were happy to learn that it has a much lower absorption rating than other white marbles (and even some granites), making it less prone to staining.

Even if we do stain the counters, there are fixes. You can make a poultice to draw out grease, or you can use this Comet trick to lift the stains. The Kitchn has a great post on the realities of living with marble, if you can take a relaxed approach to it.

So. I woke up with butterflies yesterday morning, knowing our cut counters would arrive at 7 a.m. The truck pulled up, we opened the double doors, and I stood back. I admired the heft. And I watched as they lay the gleaming sink counter into place.

Gleaming. 

Fuck. 

My countertops were polished.

How did this happen? When we picked out our slabs at Boston Granite Exchange, we noted that each slab had two finishes: It was polished on one side, honed on the other. The fabricator, assuming we were luxurious, bitches, cut our template on the polished side. It was an honest, and understandable, mistake. We’re pretty fabulous people (heh).

There may have been some yelling (mostly by Dave) when we realized what had gone wrong. We were also unimpressed with the rounded corners they cut for our square sinks. But luckily, countertops can be refinished, and the fabricator thinks he can try for a tighter cut on the sink edges. So after much stink-raising, our precious marble went back onto the truck. Our faucets, range, and and appliance-garage cabinets will have to wait until next week to be installed, after the counters are set.

And once they are, I’m pouring a goddamn glass of white wine and setting it on the kitchen island.