Melted butter, flecked with fresh herbs, poured out of a cut in a breaded chicken breast and formed an amber pool on my plate. I was in a new restaurant in New York City, Veronika, which occupies the second floor of a cool new photography museum, Fotografiska, but I had ordered a dish that I first encountered at some moment in the 1970s when my parents took me to a fancy restaurant that probably specialised in the same sort of European grandeur that Veronika aims to revive: chicken Kiev.
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