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By Eric M. WeissWashington Post Staff WriterThursday, June 10, 2004; Page H01 I wanted a new kitchen. My wife said we couldn't afford it. We compromised. Instead of paying upwards of $20,000 for the kind of custom kitchen cabinets and countertops I envisioned for our new Adams Morgan apartment, I said I would build them myself, using library books, raw lumber and the tried-and-true method of trial-and-error. Never mind that I had none of the proper tools and no previous experience building anything but a sandwich.
How hard could it be? My motivation was intense. I just couldn't look at those dingy laminate cabinets and the blue coffee 1980s Formica countertop that came with our otherwise charming 1920s apartment. My wife, Janice, was adamantly opposed to any grand project.
She insisted that other things should come first, such as a savings account. But she relented after I promised not to spend any money, make a mess or hurt myself. Well, I didn't hurt myself. I did get a little carried away. In addition to handmade custom wall cabinets, I added a zinc countertop, a larger sink and new faucet.
I refaced the old base cabinets by hand to disguise them as vintage recessed panel cabinets I saw in a magazine. French doors were refinished and rehung. And I replaced a wall of cheap shelves with a ceiling-mounted pot rack and a restored marble-topped buffet found at a flea market for $125. It took me about two months working nights and weekends and less than $2,000 -- not counting the money we blew on a party to celebrate our new, homemade kitchen.
Along the way I learned the art of joinery, the importance of basic mathematics and which hardware stores had kindly employees. The first step was checking out a stack of books on kitchen design at the local library. I learned about the "work triangle" and how a well-designed kitchen should function.
The problem was that our oddly proportioned, too-narrow kitchen didn't fit into any of the pretty drawings. The second step was making compromises to really do it on the cheap. That meant not hiring contractors, plumbers or electricians, which in turn ruled out moving the sink or range from their current positions.
That meant making do with odd proportions. The narrowed options led to the first big "aha!" moment: deciding to keep the old base cabinets, but reface the doors to resemble the Shaker-style recessed panel models we liked. That was done by gluing pieces of 2-½ inch-wide trim around the doors and painting the whole thing a creamy white.
Cheap enough.
table New brushed-nickel pulls and latches from Restoration Hardware completed the 1920s look. I borrowed a jigsaw from my father and cut out a decorative kick plate -- the wooden thing between the bottom of the cabinets and the floor. I used an old piece of wood I found in our building's boiler room and a glossy photo from one of the expensive cabinet companies as guide.
It took three tries, but it worked okay and I retained all 10 of my fingers. Next was the ugly Sears dishwasher that was the color of dirty dishwater. Walking through Home Depot one day I noticed sheets of aluminum that looked just like stainless steel.
I bought a sheet for $11 and a pair of tin snips. Then I went home and cut out a piece to fit into the frame over the painted part of the dishwasher. Voila! An instant "stainless steel" appliance! As for a countertop, my wife and I ruled out granite.
Besides being too expensive, it reminded us of all the new condos we saw when we were house shopping. We liked soapstone, concrete and stainless steel, but all were way beyond budget. Thumbing through a kitchen book by Terence Conran, I came across the idea of using zinc roofing sheets for countertops.
I thought of Paris brasseries and the beautiful zinc bar at Bistrot du Coin in Dupont Circle. I also thought "cheap." Custom zinc countertops were less expensive than stainless steel, but would set us back about $1,000. Instead, I checked around on the Internet and found a specialty shop in San Francisco that caters to the shipping industry, which uses zinc to combat electrolysis and corrosion of underwater parts.
For $165.
88, they rolled up an 8-foot-by-3-foot sheet of zinc and shipped it out to my office in Virginia. My co-workers eyed me a bit strangely when it arrived. Undeterred, I wrestled the zinc into my Volkswagen and took it to an Alexandria sheet metal shop.
They gave me a large sheet of cardboard and told me to come back with a cutout of the exact dimensions of my countertop. They then fabricated the zinc to the dimensions, bending the metal to create a seamless backsplash. The cost: $83. By this time, I was feeling cocky. I decided I would try my hand at building my own cabinets.
All that was at risk was the cost of some plywood and my pride. I started with graph paper, a pencil and more brochures from the fancy cabinetmakers. I drew a 60-inch-wide, 42-inch-high Shaker-style cabinet with four glass-paneled doors.
I wanted them to be honest replicas of old-fashioned cabinets from the 1920s. That meant doors that were inset and flush to the frame. Just like in the old days. I went back to the library. Sitting with a stack of cabinet-making books, I chose the simplest way to construct the boxes.
Because they were going to be painted, I could afford to take shortcuts that would be covered up later with putty and paint. Instead of one large unit, I divided the project in half, making two identical 30-inch wide cabinets that would later be mounted next to each other. I started with ¾-inch plywood cut to size by the friendly folks at Lowe's.
Then I used my new toy -- a $79 plunge router, a power tool that has a blade that spins horizontally -- to cut grooves in the inside side panels. I assembled the boxes using regular screws and glue, slipping the shelves into the grooves. I had cleared out a space in the kitchen for the work, but it eventually sprawled into half the living room, with trails of sawdust leading to all other rooms.
For the sake of my marriage, I tried to straighten up every night. Next came the ¾-inch-thick poplar to make the cabinet doors and the face frame, which would hold the doors. Instead of joining the face frame and the door frames together with old-fashioned joints requiring actual carpentry skills, I wound up buying a doohickey called a pocket hole jig.
It's a plastic and steel guide and long drill bit that allows you to drill a screw into wood at an extreme angle, resulting in a powerful and easy joint. Plus, "pocket hole jig'' is fun to say. After I built the door frames, I took my router and cut an L-shaped rabbet groove around the inside of the doors so the glass would have a place to sit. A local glass shop made glass to fit for about $40.
Within three weeks, the cabinets were fully assembled. Most of the time was taken up with puttying, sanding and more sanding. Finally, I took down the old wall cabinets and mounted the new ones into the wall studs.
After my relieved wife was satisfied they wouldn't fall off the wall, she joined in with a paintbrush. After the cabinets came the zinc countertop, affixed with epoxy and nail brads. In next were a new $60 stainless steel sink and a retro-style faucet.
I used the instructions that came with them as well as a home-repair book to install them. There were a few setbacks. At one point I spilled a half-gallon of white paint all over myself and the freshly refinished floors in the entryway. Another time I sent the router blade spinning through the kitchen table.
Miscalculation initially made the shelves too big for the doors to close. I breathed enough PVC cement fumes to have a near-recreational experience. And I received so many small nicks and scratches from handling the zinc that it made my arms look like they were on the losing side of a fight with a house cat.
The worst was the crunch and snap that resulted from trying to install an 8-inch-deep sink to replace a 6-inch-deep sink. The sickening sound was caused by the drainpipe and disposal being snapped from the wall caused by the extra depth of the new sink. At this point, we considered throwing up our hands and calling a plumber.
But I decided to try and figure it out myself first. I went back to the books and then down to a plumbing shop on V street, where the counter guy walked me through the operation of replacing the sink plumbing. The whole project was worth it after the cabinets were stocked with our dishes and the glass cabinets fronts picked up the morning light.
Nothing beats the luxurious feel of a new faucet and the bluish mirror-like reflection of the zinc. It makes even building a turkey sandwich fun. The final step in the kitchen will be replacing our tiny 20-inch range, which my wife refers to as the "Barbie stove.
'' No, I do not plan to build a new gas range by hand. I will leave that to General Electric. Already I'm considering new projects. Maybe built-in bookshelves in the living room? Or perhaps a platform
How hard could it be? My motivation was intense. I just couldn't look at those dingy laminate cabinets and the blue coffee 1980s Formica countertop that came with our otherwise charming 1920s apartment. My wife, Janice, was adamantly opposed to any grand project.
She insisted that other things should come first, such as a savings account. But she relented after I promised not to spend any money, make a mess or hurt myself. Well, I didn't hurt myself. I did get a little carried away. In addition to handmade custom wall cabinets, I added a zinc countertop, a larger sink and new faucet.
I refaced the old base cabinets by hand to disguise them as vintage recessed panel cabinets I saw in a magazine. French doors were refinished and rehung. And I replaced a wall of cheap shelves with a ceiling-mounted pot rack and a restored marble-topped buffet found at a flea market for $125. It took me about two months working nights and weekends and less than $2,000 -- not counting the money we blew on a party to celebrate our new, homemade kitchen.
Along the way I learned the art of joinery, the importance of basic mathematics and which hardware stores had kindly employees. The first step was checking out a stack of books on kitchen design at the local library. I learned about the "work triangle" and how a well-designed kitchen should function.
The problem was that our oddly proportioned, too-narrow kitchen didn't fit into any of the pretty drawings. The second step was making compromises to really do it on the cheap. That meant not hiring contractors, plumbers or electricians, which in turn ruled out moving the sink or range from their current positions.
That meant making do with odd proportions. The narrowed options led to the first big "aha!" moment: deciding to keep the old base cabinets, but reface the doors to resemble the Shaker-style recessed panel models we liked. That was done by gluing pieces of 2-½ inch-wide trim around the doors and painting the whole thing a creamy white.
Cheap enough.
table New brushed-nickel pulls and latches from Restoration Hardware completed the 1920s look. I borrowed a jigsaw from my father and cut out a decorative kick plate -- the wooden thing between the bottom of the cabinets and the floor. I used an old piece of wood I found in our building's boiler room and a glossy photo from one of the expensive cabinet companies as guide.
It took three tries, but it worked okay and I retained all 10 of my fingers. Next was the ugly Sears dishwasher that was the color of dirty dishwater. Walking through Home Depot one day I noticed sheets of aluminum that looked just like stainless steel.
I bought a sheet for $11 and a pair of tin snips. Then I went home and cut out a piece to fit into the frame over the painted part of the dishwasher. Voila! An instant "stainless steel" appliance! As for a countertop, my wife and I ruled out granite.
Besides being too expensive, it reminded us of all the new condos we saw when we were house shopping. We liked soapstone, concrete and stainless steel, but all were way beyond budget. Thumbing through a kitchen book by Terence Conran, I came across the idea of using zinc roofing sheets for countertops.
I thought of Paris brasseries and the beautiful zinc bar at Bistrot du Coin in Dupont Circle. I also thought "cheap." Custom zinc countertops were less expensive than stainless steel, but would set us back about $1,000. Instead, I checked around on the Internet and found a specialty shop in San Francisco that caters to the shipping industry, which uses zinc to combat electrolysis and corrosion of underwater parts.
For $165.
88, they rolled up an 8-foot-by-3-foot sheet of zinc and shipped it out to my office in Virginia. My co-workers eyed me a bit strangely when it arrived. Undeterred, I wrestled the zinc into my Volkswagen and took it to an Alexandria sheet metal shop.
They gave me a large sheet of cardboard and told me to come back with a cutout of the exact dimensions of my countertop. They then fabricated the zinc to the dimensions, bending the metal to create a seamless backsplash. The cost: $83. By this time, I was feeling cocky. I decided I would try my hand at building my own cabinets.
All that was at risk was the cost of some plywood and my pride. I started with graph paper, a pencil and more brochures from the fancy cabinetmakers. I drew a 60-inch-wide, 42-inch-high Shaker-style cabinet with four glass-paneled doors.
I wanted them to be honest replicas of old-fashioned cabinets from the 1920s. That meant doors that were inset and flush to the frame. Just like in the old days. I went back to the library. Sitting with a stack of cabinet-making books, I chose the simplest way to construct the boxes.
Because they were going to be painted, I could afford to take shortcuts that would be covered up later with putty and paint. Instead of one large unit, I divided the project in half, making two identical 30-inch wide cabinets that would later be mounted next to each other. I started with ¾-inch plywood cut to size by the friendly folks at Lowe's.
Then I used my new toy -- a $79 plunge router, a power tool that has a blade that spins horizontally -- to cut grooves in the inside side panels. I assembled the boxes using regular screws and glue, slipping the shelves into the grooves. I had cleared out a space in the kitchen for the work, but it eventually sprawled into half the living room, with trails of sawdust leading to all other rooms.
For the sake of my marriage, I tried to straighten up every night. Next came the ¾-inch-thick poplar to make the cabinet doors and the face frame, which would hold the doors. Instead of joining the face frame and the door frames together with old-fashioned joints requiring actual carpentry skills, I wound up buying a doohickey called a pocket hole jig.
It's a plastic and steel guide and long drill bit that allows you to drill a screw into wood at an extreme angle, resulting in a powerful and easy joint. Plus, "pocket hole jig'' is fun to say. After I built the door frames, I took my router and cut an L-shaped rabbet groove around the inside of the doors so the glass would have a place to sit. A local glass shop made glass to fit for about $40.
Within three weeks, the cabinets were fully assembled. Most of the time was taken up with puttying, sanding and more sanding. Finally, I took down the old wall cabinets and mounted the new ones into the wall studs.
After my relieved wife was satisfied they wouldn't fall off the wall, she joined in with a paintbrush. After the cabinets came the zinc countertop, affixed with epoxy and nail brads. In next were a new $60 stainless steel sink and a retro-style faucet.
I used the instructions that came with them as well as a home-repair book to install them. There were a few setbacks. At one point I spilled a half-gallon of white paint all over myself and the freshly refinished floors in the entryway. Another time I sent the router blade spinning through the kitchen table.
Miscalculation initially made the shelves too big for the doors to close. I breathed enough PVC cement fumes to have a near-recreational experience. And I received so many small nicks and scratches from handling the zinc that it made my arms look like they were on the losing side of a fight with a house cat.
The worst was the crunch and snap that resulted from trying to install an 8-inch-deep sink to replace a 6-inch-deep sink. The sickening sound was caused by the drainpipe and disposal being snapped from the wall caused by the extra depth of the new sink. At this point, we considered throwing up our hands and calling a plumber.
But I decided to try and figure it out myself first. I went back to the books and then down to a plumbing shop on V street, where the counter guy walked me through the operation of replacing the sink plumbing. The whole project was worth it after the cabinets were stocked with our dishes and the glass cabinets fronts picked up the morning light.
Nothing beats the luxurious feel of a new faucet and the bluish mirror-like reflection of the zinc. It makes even building a turkey sandwich fun. The final step in the kitchen will be replacing our tiny 20-inch range, which my wife refers to as the "Barbie stove.
'' No, I do not plan to build a new gas range by hand. I will leave that to General Electric. Already I'm considering new projects. Maybe built-in bookshelves in the living room? Or perhaps a platform
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