Setting and Structure

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, the overriding strength of a kitchen is its setting. This California cabin sits on a falling grade under a canopy of soaring redwoods. Noticing the land’s subtle but significant sweep down and back, I knew I wanted the room relocated for views looking out and over the backyard’s lower forest floor. I also knew then and there that this would be the kitchen I would enter in the Sub-Zero, Wolf, and Cove biennial Kitchen Design Contest. Imagine the impact of walking through a cozy front foyer at one grade and then, in one step, entering what feels like a wide-open treehouse centered on the kitchen.

Convinced of our vision, we scheduled photography in expectation of the room’s completion and, in the interim, managed its installation through a series of work interruptions as rare as the site itself. Covid stoppages, wildfires, and shipping mishaps aside, we were intent on meeting a contest submission date that’s become increasingly important to me.

Whether as a contestant, judge, or winner, I’m proud to say that I’ve participated in this contest for all of its 30-year tradition. And while no one can say what definitively makes for a winning kitchen, I have observed some consistencies through the decades. Being part of this contest has also allowed me to meet and connect with an impressive international roster of my peers, an experience so invaluable that it remains a strong incentive to apply.

The strength of a design’s connection to its environment is one of those recurring themes I’ve witnessed among prize winners. While I’d argue that design has a much more global flavor today than in years past—so much so that the contest no longer has regional categories—it’s still fun to see how a cool Miami kitchen approaches its landscape versus one attuned to the Australian desert.

Geography, however, is only one aspect of a room’s sense of place. Not unlike what my clients seek, what judges are ultimately looking for is a truly holistic kitchen. Beautiful cabinets and materials are not enough. Decoration or a clever layout isn’t either. Instead, each of these layers needs to feel like an integral part of the whole.

In this cabin, I wanted all elements—seen and unseen—to build toward a feeling of suspension. “Float” is a word I return to repeatedly, and that’s why you’ll often see me placing reflective materials where I want more lightness under the weight of an oversized island or flanking a range, for instance. I do this because kitchen design ultimately challenges us to make large, heavy appliances appear a proportional part of one overarching architectural vision. Integrating appliances is often industry-speak for hiding them. I prefer to look at how their technology can be prioritized, even showcased, and yet still dissolve into a room’s essence.

High-quality photography is critical to any submission, and dramatic overalls of a space will draw a first round of eyes. But the mark of a truly holistic kitchen lies in how the design transitions from that mile-high view to the nuances. How does it mitigate the large, boxy proportions of a refrigerator, for instance, or resolve how countertops meet the range? Where are materials used for continuity, and where do they change up to better define space? Every photo needs to be impactful and help tell the larger story of which decisions were vital to the magic and soul of a space.

Often, our challenge as designers isn’t just in the making but in gaining control over this level of detail. Architects can have an advantage in that respect, but I’ve also seen teams of different design professionals share prizes for their unified vision. This contest is open to all.

I was fortunate to find a client like the owner of this cabin, who entrusted my studio with all aspects of the home’s interior architecture. This is a Redwoods kitchen, but it’s also a retreat for the family of a down-to-earth entrepreneur whose appreciation of craft and innovation had us designing custom displays for his art collections one room over. He understood the importance of connections to adjacent spaces, here defined with custom bronze and glass structures, and gave me the freedom to site every beam, truss, and window. He didn’t question when I needed to fabricate my own clamps to hide how a pendant was suspended or craft thin steel sleeves to support an extra-long and heavy-fired terra-cotta slab table in lieu of thick corner legs.

Next year, as I shift roles to join an international panel of Sub-Zero, Wolf, and Cove judges, I look forward to discovering how future contestants reveal the depths of their design conviction. The categories in the contest are as many and diverse as the talent we can expect to see.