The panino con gorgonzola di Novara is the same blue cheese read through where it is made. Novara sits inside the protected production zone that straddles Piedmont and Lombardy, and to a local the qualifier is not decoration: it points at the dairies of the Novarese plain, the milk of that country, and a wheel bought from a cheesemonger who can name the producer rather than a generic supermarket block. The sandwich is the simplest possible frame for that distinction, one cheese and the right bread and nothing that would mask it, and the defining move is provenance rather than recipe. The build does not differ much from any good gorgonzola panino; the point is that the cheese is sourced as a specific thing from a specific place.
The craft is letting that wheel be the entire sandwich. As with any gorgonzola the first decision is ripeness, the soft sweet dolce spread thick or the firmer, sharper piccante crumbled so its bite distributes, and a Novarese cheesemonger will steer that choice by what is at its peak that week. The cheese is brought just below fridge-cold so it slackens and the blue opens up, and it is laid on a plain, not-too-assertive bread, because a loud loaf would only argue with a cheese this expressive. Nothing is added beyond, at most, the single sweet or nutty counter the cheese asks for. The discipline here is restraint of a particular kind: trusting the provenance enough not to dress it up.
The variations are the gorgonzola family read at large, each its own preparation rather than a line here: the cheese taken plainly as the base Panino con Gorgonzola, gorgonzola with walnuts as the Gorgonzola e Noci, gorgonzola with pear as the Gorgonzola e Pere. Each is one blue given a bread, and each deserves its own article rather than being crowded in here.