Grab a can opener; then make the sauce

SANTA MARGHERITA, Italy -- In a small area that is half the size of most American kitchens, Salvatore Sanzo is preparing tomato sauce in his restaurant, Dal Baffo. The counter isn't lined with ripe tomatoes but rather with an assortment of cans taken from an adjacent storeroom. Once he's made the sauce, salsa di pomodoro, Sanzo will toss it with pasta, use it as a topping for pizza, adorn veal cutlets lightly breaded and fried, and stir it into zuppa di crostone -- a fish soup brimming with clams, mussels, and octopus.

As chef of a Ligurian restaurant overlooking the Mediterranean, Sanzo always has seafood on the menu. But just as constant is his three-ingredient sauce, made with canned tomatoes, coarse salt, and a healthy pour of the region's olive oil.

The six-burner stove in Sanzo's kitchen has a huge pot of octopus boiling away for his popular seafood salad. Next to it is the stockpot awaiting the tomatoes. The oven is warming for a lasagna al

forno, which will go in just before lunch. (One day last fall, the La Spezia soccer team ate that lasagna, a victory meal they celebrated in the courtyard seating at Dal Baffo.) As passersby head to church and children play ball in the square, Sanzo attaches a large food mill to his counter. It looks more like a meat grinder than a mill but serves the same purpose. He opens large cans of Heinz whole stewed tomatoes and pours them into the mouth of the mill, pushing down with a wooden pestle to engage the tomatoes with the blades. He pulverizes the flesh, separating it from the seeds, which he discards. He transfers the ground flesh to the pot, along with a peppery and fragrant oil and a generous sprinkling of coarse salt. Then he pours a large can of tomato puree into the mixture.

After an hour and 15 minutes on the stovetop -- the chef stops only occasionally to stir the pot -- the sauce is concentrated, thick enough to coat stands of al dente spaghetti.

At the table, diners see the sauce fly by on yeasty pizza rounds and cutlets. The bright red elixir is deeply aromatic and sunny, more intense than it would be if made with fresh tomatoes, but not so strong the flavor of the food beneath it doesn't come through.

It's impossible to duplicate the experience of sitting in a restaurant in Italy and eating perfectly unadorned food. But you can make the sauce, toss it with pasta, and savor the meal. The scene may be different, but the flavor and your imagination will do the rest.