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Itâs too bad I stopped in for a snack at the Modern that night in November. For one thing, a special high-temperature oven was busted, and the restaurant, tucked into the Museum of Modern Artâs formerly new Midtown complex, could not serve its signature dish: a tarte flambé so perfect it had brought me and a friend in from Brooklyn. We were vaguely aware that the press opening for a monographic show on Rem Koolhaasâs CCTV tower (in progress in Beijing) was taking place later on next door, up in the museum proper. But as we ate our second choices at the bar, we still had not decided if weâd go.
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