Renovating in Britain, I’ve discovered, is not for the faint of heart — or for those unacquainted with the phrase “it can’t be done, love.” As an American accustomed to wide floor plans, plumbers that actually answer the phone, and a general sense of renovation optimism, the British approach to building feels delightfully (and maddeningly) different. It’s less “tear down this wall” and more “let’s have a very long cup of tea and think about it for several months.”
So when my husband and I bought this house, we decided to transform our former living room into a kitchen, having the majority of the work completed before we moved in. The reactions ranged from amused disbelief to gentle concern. “You’re putting the kitchen there?” one craftsman asked, eyebrows arching upwards. “But that’s the best room of the house!” Exactly, I thought — why wouldn’t you want to spend most of your life in it?
We have four young children, which means that where the family goes, the chaos follows. Kitchens are never just for cooking in our household; they’re classrooms, science labs, band practice venues, and peace negotiation chambers. The idea of relegating that much life to the back of the house, away from the light, felt wrong.
The front living room — with its French doors, abundance of windows on three sides and a picture-perfect view of the village church — practically begged for more purpose. Cooking while watching sunlight spill over centuries-old stone seemed like a fair trade for giving up a traditional sitting room.
Incorporating deVol Kitchen Cabinetry
I have a not-so-secret obsession with English country home design, and when it comes to kitchens, deVol epitomizes the classic joinery look I so admire. The whole idea really began with an impulsive online search for secondhand deVol kitchens — a phrase that should come with a warning label. British resale sites are a dangerous blend of temptation and treasure hunt; one minute you’re scrolling through mismatched drawer pulls, the next you’ve fallen head over heels for a full set of hand-painted cabinetry in “Clerkenwell Blue.” I, of course, found my true love in a used deVol Shaker kitchen in soft blue. (By the way, if you’re in England… working with ReHome is a HUGE plus! I’m not like an affiliate partner or anything, but highly recommend using them if you’re ever shopping for a secondhand kitchen. Also, pro tip: you can make offers on the kitchens they sell. We got our deVol kitchen for a fraction of the listing price!)
The paint was beautifully worn, whispering stories of previous Sunday roasts. Within days, I was arranging transport and reimagining a room once reserved for reading as the new engine of family life. The movers put the gorgeously crafted cabinetry in our garage while we figured out exactly how to fit all the pieces together in the soon-to-be kitchen.
Moving a kitchen into a living room, as anyone experienced with English renovation will tell you, invites a level of logistical drama that can only be described as Shakespearean. There were pipes that led nowhere, sockets from the 1980s that hummed with mystery, and enough plaster dust to make me question all my previous life choices. We had to move three radiators and found old wallpaper tucked behind each one (eerily triggering of our Virginia kitchen renovations from over a decade ago).
In America, a project like this might involve drywall, a trip to Home Depot armed with Starbucks in hand, and a brisk sense of progress. In England, it involves endless “rethinks”, cups of tea, and phrases like, “that beam’s original, best not touch it.”
Yet despite the mess, it became clear that the room was meant to be a kitchen.
The light alone felt like divine approval. On winter mornings, the eastern windows draw in the first glow, bathing the Worktop of Perpetual Toast Crumbs in gold. By afternoon, sunshine pours in from the south, turning the faux-wood laminate flooring we chose into a living, breathing grounding space.
And as the day closes, the western windows flare briefly with the last bit of daylight before surrendering to the glow of the fireplace — a fully working one, complete with slightly unpredictable smoke patterns and irresistible charm.
That fireplace now anchors the space, as if gently mocking the idea that cooking should be purely functional.
As the kitchen took shape, the former dining room, just next door, began to feel like the odd one out. It was too formal, too stuffy, and far too close to the chaos to sit quietly pretending to be glamorous. So we reimagined it as a scullery, that wonderfully British term that makes a second kitchen sound respectable rather than indulgent. (The scullery now conceals the hum of appliances, the inevitable clutter, and occasionally a child hiding with a biscuit.)
We carved out a new doorway between the two rooms — a satisfying piece of symmetry and practicality — creating a graceful rhythm from kitchen to scullery: from sunny fellowship to functional industry. It’s also the preferred shortcut for small children attempting to escape vegetable duty.
English Renovation Bucket List: Installing a deVol Kitchen
As the cabinets took shape, it became clear that deVol designers had both genius and a mild sense of mischief. Nothing fit quite where the measurements would have suggested, yet everything looked too beautiful to give up on. There were moments of triumph — the discovery that one cabinet perfectly hid an electrical box — and moments of despair, such as realizing the newly installed plumbing was, in fact, several centimeters too far to the side. The process became less of an installation and more of an archaeological dig: unearthing how this kitchen once lived, loved, and functioned in someone else’s home.
I reached out to the deVol design team and I cannot emphasize enough how kind and lovely they were to work with. They immediately pulled up the specific measurements, answered all my questions, and helped us put together the puzzle pieces.
It took a while, but I am thrilled to say: the deVol had been reborn, carrying the dignity of fine craftsmanship and the scars of adaptation.
Standing there, we could almost hear it sigh, “I used to belong in a Georgian townhouse, but this new life isn’t half bad.” Every cup of tea since has tasted a bit more accomplished — steeped, perhaps, in the quiet satisfaction that recycling never looked so chic.
By the time we moved in, with the project ~75% complete, the room felt entirely ours — simultaneously familiar and foreign, modern and historical. I will include more of the fun details later (countertops! Appliances! Lighting!). I can tell you, a few months in: it’s a kitchen that hums with the family life my husband and I hoped for… the laughter, the mess, the endless clatter of spoons against mugs. Beneath that noise, there’s a deep sense of calm, a feeling that this transformation — like so many English stories — was not about creating something new, but revealing what was always meant to be there.
We may have started as Americans abroad, armed with spreadsheets and misplaced renovation confidence, but this home has taught us something profoundly British: that good design is not about perfection. It’s about patience, personality, and a kettle that never stops boiling.