Hawks: flawless food for flawed people

There’s a baby in the station wagon next to me. It’s staring and wiggling its weak little finger in my direction. “It’s cute how babies have no inhibitions,” I think. “They crawl around naming things with no regard for what they really are. That baby’s probably pointing at me, thinking, ‘Pickle.’”

Get outta’ here, you adorable little baby—I’m not a pickle.

Then a Lexus cuts me off.

Any time there’s a tender moment to be had, a Lexus is sure to ruin it. It happens every time, without fail.

And as luck would have it, the parking lot at the recently opened Hawks restaurant in Granite Bay can double as a Lexus dealership. But as always, the plan is to take deep breaths, remain judgement-free, Ghandi-like, and enjoy a complimentary meal with colleagues. After all, delicious food heals all emotional wounds, no?

The restaurant is more comfortable than it looks from the outside (think upscale strip mall). The dark gray walls, and black and white photographs give the impression of a nice living room; it’s calming, which I’m pretty sure is what the owners, Molly Hawks and Michael Fagnoni, are going for.

Alright, I’ll just cut to the chase: I’m nervous around menopausal women. But here I am, seemingly surrounded by them. I’m the only man at our table, and with each piece of turquoise jewelry I see, the more I feel more like a guest on “The View”—waiting for Barbara Walters to rip off her wig and go for my young heart with her coffee-stained dentures.

It’s a problem, I know, which again, I’m hoping the food will mend.

Turns out, of course, they’re harmless, (the women, I mean). Except for maybe Elaine Corn—freelance writer for Sacramento Magazine, author of six cookbooks and contributing reporter at Capital Public Radio—who’s seated across from me. What she lacks in eloquence, she makes up for in brute force.

Like me, her problems run deep. The way I hate Lexus’, she hates bell peppers. I mean, she really hates them. She even points her finger and blasphemes against an imaginary bell pepper sitting on the table. “They’re narcissists,” she yells (because they make all the other food taste like them, I learn).

The food arrives and it’s breathtaking, in both quantity and beauty (and to Corn’s chagrin, not a bell pepper to speak of): day boat scallops, tops seared to an earthy brown; sweet heirloom tomato salad with generous ricotta shavings; duck confit with crispy skin, and grilled hanger steak, pink inside with a thin, dark, seasoned crust outside. And for dessert—a lemon souffle so light I expect it to lift off the table and float into the chandelier; I’m reminded of a modern medival feast—savory, sweet and salty, but pared down with an elegant display.

Throughout the meal, Corn doesn’t stop yelling at imaginary bell peppers. With each mouthfull of perfectly seasoned food comes an earfull of Corn’s diatribe.

I want to tell Corn how I grew up in East Los Angeles, where my nine brothers would split one perfectly sweet and spicy pepper amongst ourselves, as both our lunch and dinner.

But that would be untrue.

I grew up brotherless, in Davis, with doctors for parents. But we did have a lot of money, and a huge backyard with bell peppers in the garden. Ah, those were the days.

After dessert, a tray arrives with frozen mint leaves, dipped in sugar and chocolate. What a meal.

Despite the fact that that an award-winning food writer hates my favorite fruit like Ann Coulter hates happiness, I stride into the parking lot smiling, full of the most flavorful, interesting food I’ve ever eaten.

Next to my Civic, of course, is a shining new Lexus SUV. God damn, I hate those things.

Hawks is located in the Quarry Ponds Town Center at 5530 Douglas Boulevard in Granite Bay. Call (916) 791-6200 or visit www.hawksrestaurant.com for more information.