The red grout in my kitchen is what made me want to sign my lease on the spot. The building was from the 1920s, in LA’s historic Beverly Fairfax neighborhood, but much of the apartment’s character had been stripped away. The kitchen and bathroom tiles had seemingly been left alone, though.
The other detail that survived the renovations was the doorknobs. Crystal handles… that, when locked, would often leave you trapped in your own room. But I digress.
When I’m trying to bring character back to a room, I look at what’s already there. I usually start with the architecture, but in this kitchen, the materials gave me more to work with.
But why was red grout the thing? It gave the simple grid of off-white squares an ’80s feel, in an apartment from the 1920s. I liked that unexpected combination. I wanted to push it further.
So the red grout was the thing I held onto.
My idea was to use primary colors and lean into that ’80s feeling as far as I could without it becoming too juvenile. I didn’t want a Gymboree. Or the inside of a Crayola box.
My toaster, my kitchen counter lamp. I chose them both because they, too, were red. The wall art brought in blue and yellow. For the walls and cabinets, I went with green.
Cactus green, across the walls and cabinets. Actual cactuses, too.
Drenching the room in one color also let me downplay the details I liked less. The cabinets were plain boxes with overlay doors rather than inset ones. They felt clunky. Painted the same green as the walls, they could blend in instead of asking for attention. The red grout was still the thing I wanted you to notice.
This is why I’d spend time looking at an existing kitchen before making a list of everything to change. There may be one detail worth carrying further, even when the rest offers very little. In mine, I could make the cabinets less conspicuous and give the grout more attention.
An owner and a renter will have different options for what happens next. But that first decision is available to both: what’s here that you actually like?
