Cook Like a Scullery Maid on ‘Downton Abbey’

There’s a new trophy kitchen on the town, and it appears like a very outdated one, with hand-painted cupboards in wealthy colours and boring brass with an vintage patina. Maybe it’s the “Downton Abbey” impact: the English scullery has been buffed up, ever so barely, and shipped to America. Downstairs is now upstairs. The Aga vary is elective.

Nearly 30 years in the past, Tony Niblock and Katie Fontana, English designers who had been then a couple, constructed a conventional Suffolk lengthy home with reclaimed supplies and an particularly becoming kitchen.

Inspired by National Trust properties, they sketched out Georgian-style cabinetry, which is distinguished by clear traces and minimal detailing, had it made by a native joiner, and painted it themselves of their favourite Farrow & Ball colour, Berrington Blue.

Instead of a laminate stage set, they wished a kitchen, Ms. Fontana has mentioned, “that wasn’t twiddly, that didn’t shout, ‘Look at me!’” they usually guessed, rightly, that others would possibly need the identical factor.

This matched the artisanal, local and very expensive cookery of the sort practiced by Skye Gyngell, the chef at Spring, a farm-to-table restaurant in Somerset House. Ms. Gyngell is one of many culinary avatars to put a Plain English kitchen in her own home, underscoring its functionality to the aspirational amateur.

Taavo Somer, the architect-restaurateur who rusticated a generation of New York City restaurants, installed his Plain English kitchen with a friend, setting the cabinets onto the uneven floor of his 1930s Tudor in Dutchess County, N.Y., using a process called scribing. (The cabinets have no kick plate, so they sit directly on the floor, hence the scribing, which gives them a sturdy, Shaker-simple quality.)

It allowed him to see how precisely the pieces were put together and note details he called poetic, like dovetail joints on the drawers.

Page Starzinger, a poet who lives in a one-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village, also saw the poetry in the 28-year-old British company’s designs, and ordered blue-black cabinets (shade name: Railings) for her narrow galley kitchen.

In an East Village condo, a new Plain English kitchen sports a baby Aga, as adorable as a young royal.

Right now, in homes on Martha’s Vineyard, Block Island, and in the Hamptons, in townhouses in New Orleans and Los Angeles, Plain English kitchens dressed in their signature colors — Mushy Peas, Dripping Tap, Boiled Dishcloth and Boiled Egg — conjure the interiors of certain English literati (Margaret Drabble by way of Mary-Kay Wilmers).

It is the sort of expensive good taste also expressed by the high-end nursery food served at Rochelle Canteen in the Shoreditch neighborhood of London.

Rita Konig, an English decorator and editor, oversaw the Plain English color line this year, adding 12 hues that include Nicotine (a deep yellow), Burnt Toast (brown) and Mouldy Plum (what it sounds like).

In the half-century since the modern American kitchen promised an egalitarian, if gendered, space that would free the middle-class housewife from the drudgery of her chores with space-age technologies and materials like Formica, that arena has become ever more complicated and aspirational.

Last year, Americans spent $85.5 billion on their kitchens; this year, that figure is projected to rise to $90 billion, according to the National Kitchen & Bath Association, the industry’s trade group, which also reports that “transitional” styles, meaning a little bit of everything, are the most popular.

And yet, Ms. Carlson added, importing whole kitchens handmade in Suffolk, while beautifully made and culturally on-point, “might start to feel problematic in this age of climate change. As we continue to focus on locally sourced goods and food, does it makes for a contradiction in the kitchen?”

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