The Unfitted Kitchen and Elizabeth David

Without her influence I might have pursued a career in architecture without ever developing my deep appreciation for kitchens. As it is I spent countless hours as a young person in her Chelsea home, drawn to the unique space that was her kitchen.

In many ways her kitchen embodied the very essence of what we now call an unfitted kitchen. When she moved into her Halsey Street house in 1950 she chose an extension built over part of her back garden to serve as the kitchen, leaving a narrow section of outside space just wide enough for plant stands. She furnished the kitchen extension with three antique pine dressers, each sourced from different places, each with its own history, alongside two freestanding cupboards. A scrubbed pine table sat at the centre, accompanied by a carpenter-made sink cabinet. At one end a chaise longue doubled as a comfortable resting spot, often covered in books or occupied by Squeaker the cat. A gas stove between two dressers provided a place to cook. It had the air of almost being set there incidentally.

Elizabeth David’s main kitchen gave her 27 years of use.

At first glance the setup seemed unconventional, yet it worked effortlessly, was full of charm and met her needs rather beautifully. It was where she entertained guests, conducted research, and wrote her books. There were collections of cookware and decorative objects on every surface. Hanging from wooden pegs above the stove were heat diffusers, conical sieves, and an assortment of utensils. On the dressers were a collection of terracotta pots, white porcelain saucepans and an elegant Pillivuyt soup tureen or two. Each thing was chosen with an eye for craftsmanship and style, modernity and tradition side by side.

My aunt’s approach to putting together the kitchen was deeply personal and guided by a love for objects both useful and beautiful. She didn’t have time for the standardized fitted kitchens that were popular in the sixties and seventies with their uniform cabinetry and plastic surfaces. ‘Why fill a room with cupboard doors,’ she asked me, ‘when you can have furniture?’ She wanted to see her cooking tools rather than hide them away.

Among the standout pieces in her kitchen was a magnificent 17th-century walnut armoire from Lyons with intricately carved doors and a rustic hand-hewn back. It served as a striking counterpoint to the simpler pine dressers, its dark wood rich with history. This interplay of textures and materials reflected my aunt’s appreciation of both elegance and practicality. She found delight in how her collection of earthenware vessels complemented the soft blue-grey paint she had chosen for the walls.

Despite its charm, my aunt’s kitchen was not without its limitations. As time passed she began to feel constrained by its lack of natural light and reliance on antique furniture for storage. This realization set in motion the next chapter of her kitchen story, one that shaped my own design philosophy.

Elizabeth David’s own pioneering Unfitted Kitchen.

In 1977 my aunt found herself looking critically at her kitchen. She declined to have it photographed for The Kitchen Book by Terence Conran, thought she did contribute a chapter describing her ideal ‘dream kitchen’. In this piece she conjured up a space like an artist’s studio, functional and inspiring, free from conventional constraints - you can find my aunt’s description of her dream kitchen in Is There a Nutmeg in the House. She also asked me to contribute to this fantasy with an illustrated design, which I did and you can see in my book, The Art of Kitchen Design.

Soon after Conran’s book came out, a practical opportunity to create my aunt a new kitchen presented itself. The tenant in her basement flat moved out so she and I came up with a plan to turn the space into a second kitchen, a cosy ‘winter kitchen’ that would provide an escape from the dark and damp conditions of her upstairs kitchen. This was a chance to bring her dream to life while preserving the essence of what she loved about her original kitchen.

The basement, consisting of two rooms, was opened up and I was able to redesign the space with freestanding furniture. This approach formed the basis of what later became my Unfitted Kitchen concept. By using furniture instead of built-in cabinetry I retained a sense of openness, allowing architectural details—fireplaces, alcoves, even pipes—to remain visible and appreciated. The choice of materials was also important. Instead of pine wood I used beech and olive ash, keeping the same blue-grey wall colour my aunt loved.

One of the more distinctive elements I introduced was inlay work, using fine strips of black and red acrylic for decoration. My aunt wanted a modern touch without going all-out minimalist. This detail lent a subtle sophistication to the cabinetry while being easy to clean. It was a small but significant design innovation.

The kitchen was arranged around two tables. Used for food preparation, the primary worktable was a natural centrepiece, while a second table in the adjoining front room provided a place for writing, dining, and conversation. This latter space was designed to feel more like a sitting room, complete with a carpet, maybe unusual for a kitchen but it softened the atmosphere. At the suggestion of a friend and recognizing the need for a comfortable resting spot, my aunt added a daybed. Arthritis was reducing the number of times in the day she climbed the many stairs in her tall house.

Functionality remained a priority. My aunt insisted on a well-designed plate rack for easy access to plates and dishes without concealing them. The Belfast sink, installed at the perfect height to prevent discomfort, was paired with a rubber bowl for washing vegetables. She strongly believed in the superiority of wooden draining boards over stainless steel or ceramic alternatives as they were gentler on delicate kitchenware.

One of the standout pieces in the new kitchen was a custom-built storage cupboard inspired by a Georgian linen press she had always loved. She was adamant that it should have sliding doors to avoid the intrusive inconvenience of doors opening outwards into the room. With spacious drawers at the base for easy access this design was ahead of its time. A special feature of the kitchen was a low-level table I made for her ice cream machine. She spent much time researching ice cream – she was in her phase of researching the food world of ice. Harvest of the Cold Months, published posthumously, is a fascinating account of the social history of ice and ices.

Though she relished her new winter kitchen, its basement location did present challenges. Yet she spent much of her time there, appreciating its warmth, practicality, and the sense of space it provided. Once she descended in the morning from her bedroom on the third floor she would often remain there the entire day.

The legacy of my aunt’s kitchens lives on. Her freestanding furniture has been passed down through our family, continuing to be used and cherished. As items that tell stories and serve more than one generation these pieces embody the enduring value of well-made furniture. In my work I take pride in sharing her wisdom and philosophy with those who seek a kitchen that is not just a place to cook but a place to truly live. The kitchen remains an inspiration for pieces in the Unfitted Kitchen collection today, so much so I am planning to reproduce a few of the furniture pieces in my new collection.

The collection can viewed at: theunfittedkitchencompany.com