The panino con kebab is the immigrant döner adapted to Italian bread and the Italian street. Meat stacked on a vertical spit, seasoned and pressed into a cone, is roasted as it turns and shaved off in thin strips to order, then loaded into bread with salad and sauce. What makes this an Italian sandwich rather than the dish it descends from is the carrier and the calibration: the spit meat goes into a piadina folded around it, or a split Italian roll, dressed and sauced for the local palate, sold from a counter that sits on the same street as the salume roll and the slice of pizza.
The craft is controlling a hot, loose, spill-prone filling inside bread that was not built for it. The shaved meat comes off the spit wet with its own fat and juice, so the bread has to be chosen and dressed to take that load: a piadina is folded tight and sometimes warmed on the griddle so it grips the filling and does not go through, while a split roll is packed and pressed to keep the strips from sliding out the back on the first bite. Shredded salad and a sauce, white yoghurt-based or a hot red, are layered to season and to cut the fat, and the portion is judged so the bread can still close around it. The whole thing is assembled and handed over at once and eaten standing, because a kebab panino that waits goes soggy and cold and loses the contrast that makes it worth eating.
The variations are mostly the bread and the heat of the sauce. There is the piadina fold, the build in a roll, the spiced red sauce against the cool white one, and the all-salad vegetarian version with falafel in place of the spit meat. The wider modern street, the falafel wrap and the contemporary gourmet panino that share this counter, follows its own logic, and each of those deserves its own article rather than being crowded in here.