It began with a pun, scrawled in a notebook years ago, and matured into a dish that captures the fleeting glory of late summer. The recipe developer behind this tomato tonnato has long confessed a weakness for groan-inducing wordplay, ever since the days of creating amuse-bouches with names like “France on a log.” But where some culinary puns fizzle, this one evolved into something elegant and deeply satisfying: a no-cook salad that marries the comfort of a tuna sandwich with the vibrant sweetness of peak-season tomatoes, ready in just about 15 minutes.

For a few precious weeks each year, gardens and farmers' markets overflow with heirloom and conventional tomatoes in an astonishing array of shapes, colors, and sizes. It’s the micro-season that true food lovers wait for, a brief window before pumpkin spice anxiety sets in. During that period, waking up early to hit the Union Square Greenmarket multiple times a week becomes routine, and inevitably leads to hauling home more tomatoes than one person can reasonably eat. That abundance demands quick, no-cook solutions — this salad answers that call perfectly.

The dish rests on a creamy, pourable tuna-mayonnaise sauce called tonnato. Popularized in Italy as the partner to chilled roast veal, tonnato has historically been a tough sell for some American palates. Yet the combination of tuna and tomatoes proves far more approachable, and the tonnato lobby has made quiet strides over the last few years. This version adopts a brilliantly simple technique: an immersion blender makes the sauce in minutes, using the two-minute mayonnaise method that has become a beloved shortcut among home cooks.

To make the tonnato, combine a whole egg, a touch of Dijon mustard, capers, anchovy fillets, and fresh lemon juice in the tall beaker that comes with the immersion blender. Pour vegetable oil on top and let it settle briefly. Plunge the blender head to the very bottom, switch it on, and do not pulse or move the head until a thick mayonnaise forms — about 30 to 45 seconds. The mustard acts as a surfactant, helping to stabilize the emulsion, even if it isn’t strictly traditional.

Stop the blender, add high-quality oil-packed tuna (Ortiz is recommended) and a bit more lemon juice, then blend again only until the tuna is just incorporated. Resisting the urge to over-blend is critical: processing the sauce too long can cause the tuna to break into gritty particles, turning the tonnato chalky and grainy. A slightly less uniform texture actually yields a silkier mouthfeel. Transfer the mixture to a bowl, whisk in extra-virgin olive oil by hand, and season with kosher salt and black pepper. The sauce can be made ahead and refrigerated in an airtight container for up to three days — a welcome time-saver.

With the tonnato ready, assembly is pure artistry. Spoon the sauce onto a large serving plate and spread it into an even layer with the back of a spoon. Using a sharp chef’s knife or serrated blade, cut two pounds of mixed ripe tomatoes into a variety of shapes: slices, wedges, and bite-sized chunks. Arrange them over the tonnato as artfully as you like. The visual appeal is immediate, a mosaic of reds, yellows, greens, and purples.

For a balancing heat, spoon small dollops of chopped Calabrian chiles across the tomatoes. These oil-preserved peppers deliver a fruity, spicy punch that offsets the sweet acidity of the tomatoes and the citrusy richness of the tonnato. A sprinkle of toasted black sesame seeds adds a nutty, slightly bitter crunch. Just before serving, finish with a shower of fresh basil leaves — tearing the larger ones, leaving tiny leaves whole — and a scattering of coarse sea salt. The salt should be added at the very last moment, so the tomatoes burst in the mouth with their full juiciness intact.

No heating, no long ingredient lists, and no fancy equipment beyond an immersion blender are required for this dish. The recipe makes about one and a half cups of tonnato, leaving extra sauce for another round. It’s a salad meant to be enjoyed immediately, when the tomatoes are at their shimmering best, and it celebrates the season with a wink — proof that even a bad pun can become a glorious plate of food.