
I couldn't find a mud kitchen worth keeping. So I built one.
Mud & Maple started the way most good ideas do — with a problem at home and a workshop out the back.

It started with a flat-pack disaster.
My kids wanted a mud kitchen. So I did what most parents do — I went online, looked at the options, and picked one that seemed decent enough.
It arrived in a box. Took an afternoon to put together. Looked alright for about six weeks. Then the rain got to it, the screws loosened, and by the end of summer it was wobbling like it had given up on life.
I'd spent good money on something that was basically designed to be thrown away. And that bothered me — not just as a parent, but as someone who knows what properly built things look like.

So I went out to the workshop and made a proper one.
I've always built things. It's how my brain works — see a problem, go out to the workshop, come back with something that fixes it. So when the flat-pack kitchen fell apart, I didn't buy another one. I made one myself.
The first version worked well. It was solid and well built, but a little too big. I also painted it and noticed that the paint started to wear and so for the next version, I improved the wood, the fixings and the design to make it more child friendly.
Redwood timber. Stainless steel fixings. Proper joints. Something my kids could lean on, climb around, and use every single day without me worrying it was about to collapse.
It survived that winter. And the next one. The kids hammered it, soaked it, covered it in mud — and it just sat there in the garden, doing its job.
— Alex, Founder

Then the neighbours asked for one.
Parents would come round, see the kitchen in the garden, and ask where we got it. When I told them I'd made it, the next question was always the same: "Could you make me one?"
So I did. Then I made another. And somewhere between the third and the fourth, it stopped being a favour and started becoming something real.
I called it Mud & Maple — mud for the mess, maple for the making — and decided to do it properly.

Built on a farm in Brigstock.
Every Mud & Maple kitchen is hand-built in my workshop here on the farm in Brigstock, Northamptonshire. There's no factory. No production line. No warehouse full of flat-pack boxes waiting to ship.
It's just me, good timber, and a deliberate choice to keep things small. I limit the number of builds each year because that's the only way to make sure every single one gets the time and attention it deserves.
I could scale this up. I choose not to. The whole point is that these are built properly, by hand, one at a time.
What we believe
Screens will always be there. Mud, rain, and unstructured play won't always feel this natural to them. Give them a reason to get out there while they still want to.
We don't believe in disposable toys. If something's going to live in your garden, it should be made to last there — not fall apart after one winter and end up in a skip.
We're not trying to become a factory. Keeping our numbers small means every kitchen gets the care it deserves, and every customer gets a product we're genuinely proud of.

A family thing.
This started because of my kids, and they're still the reason I do it. They're the ones who tested the first prototype. They're the ones who tell me when something isn't right. And they're the ones who remind me, every time they're out in the garden covered in mud, why this matters.
This is a family business in the truest sense: small, personal, and built around the things we actually care about. If you email us, chances are, it's me personally emailing you back.
From the workshop
Ready to see the kitchen?
Every one is hand-built to order in our Brigstock workshop. Have a look at what we make — and if you've got questions, we're always happy to talk.


