By Paul Reidinger

SABELLA IS, in San Francisco, a magic name in seafood – right up there with Alioto's, Sam's, Tadich's. Much of the magic, of course, is contingent on there being an A in front of "Sabella," as in A. Sabella's. That is the name of one of the most venerable and venerated seafood restaurants in the city, with roots in the late 19th century, and like most such places, it's located near what used to be a vibrantly working waterfront and today is the tourist trap we all know and love as Fisherman's Wharf.

For more than 20 years, the kitchen at A. Sabella's was run by family scion Michael Sabella. But toward the end of 2001, he struck out on his own, opening an Italian deli, Sabella's Italian Market, in a West Portal storefront. First thought: unpropitious timing. Economy already in meltdown, populace terrified by shadowy menaces and overseas mischief. Second thought: why would a seafood guy open a deli?

Apparently, the same thoughts, or at least the second thought, occurred to Sabella himself, for last summer Sabella's Italian Market became just Sabella's. The deli is gone, replaced by a restaurant that emphasizes seafood with, in Sabella's words, "an Italian flair," all within sight of the yawning mouth of Muni's Twin Peaks tunnel, not to mention Spiazzo, another storefront Italian restaurant a few doors down whose basic layout so resembles Sabella's that for a moment, as I stepped inside, I was confused.

Luckily, we were soon seated. Sabella's is that kind of place; it is about the neighborhood, and it is casual though not sloppy. It's also big enough to accommodate drifters – a good thing, since drifters are legion along the Main Street USA known as West Portal Avenue. Drifters tend to be (in my experience as a drifter) hungry, and therefore likely to welcome prompt service and hefty portions. As at Sabella's.

For a restaurant that sounds Italian, and in particular Sicilian, themes, Sabella's handles the New England classics with considerable aplomb. A cup of clam chowder ($2.75), well seasoned, nicely thickened with potato, and heavy with big chunks of clam, earned a succinct "fabulous" in my notes. And a whole Maine lobster ($24.95), steamed and served with good (if not great) fries, melted garlic butter, and ketchup, was an absolute showstopper and not a bad deal as lobster goes. I would choose crab any day – tastier at a tenth of the cost – but it isn't crab season, and lobster fiends have a way of choosing lobster whenever they can, without regard to whatever else might be on the menu.

Not all the food reflects a maritime theme, but to move away from seafood is to find oneself in unmistakably Italian country – in the midst of a cup of minestrone ($2.75), say (well salted in true Italian fashion), or a massive platter of Nanna's meat-and-ricotta lasagna ($9.95), pungently perfumed with oregano and stuffed with spinach to complete the Italian-flag color scheme of red, white, and green.

The lunch menu is, if anything, even more prominently Italian in tone, with a special emphasis given to panini, the peninsula's ubiquitous grilled sandwiches. We found the fennel seed-scented Sicilian sausage version ($6.95) to be a bit of a mess – because of slices of fresh tomato in addition to grilled onions and red peppers – despite crisp, golden slices of bread. But a sandwich of prosciutto, fresh tomato slices, mozzarella, and basil ($6.95) was less soggy and held together better. The accompanying fries were underseasoned (the only item we found in the course of our visits of which this could be said) and flaccid – perhaps not quite fresh?

And the only item we came across that was neither fish nor Italian, so to speak, was Nanna's gathered greens ($5.95), a big salad of mixed lettuces tossed with walnuts and blue cheese (a familiar combo, like those pairs of ice-skaters who keep turning up at successive Winter Olympics) and – wild card – dried cranberries. The overall visual effect suggested a holiday wreath that had somehow found its way onto a plate, while the palate detected crunch, chewiness, creaminess, and a sweet-sour flavor enhanced by a champagne vinaigrette.

Desserts are fairly ordinary. Whenever a server, in the course of rattling off the sweet choices, mentions "tiramisu," I am for all practical purposes struck deaf. My companion was not (in fact is never) thus afflicted and, having heard out the recitation, settled on a slice of ricotta cheesecake ($5.95). This turned out to be a formidable slab, formidably dense, with some quartered strawberries scattered about for color and contrast – a standard practice, since pale cheesecake on a white plate can appear to be suffering from the gastronomic equivalent of anemia. I would have preferred some sort of sauce or coulis, which would have served much the same purpose while bringing a touch of refinement. But we ate it all anyway, and were well satisfied. Ah, Sabella's!