Peloponnese Style is a regional reading rather than a single fixed item: the set of variations the Peloponnese brings to the Greek handheld. It is best understood as a lens. Take the familiar wrapped and stuffed formats of the mainland and ask what the south does differently with them, in bread, in filling emphasis, in the local products that find their way in. The label points at a place and its habits, not at one recipe, and treating it as a category rather than a dish is the honest way to read it.
In practice the regional signature shows up in the components, so that is where to look. The carrier is still the soft Greek flatbread used as a wrap or the stuffed-pita logic common across the country, but the fillings tilt toward what the Peloponnese produces and prefers: its olives and olive oil, its citrus, its pork, its sheep and goat cheeses. A regional version done well reads as coherent: the bread fresh and pliable, the filling balanced rather than overloaded, the local product actually tasting of itself rather than buried. Done sloppily it is just a generic wrap with a place name attached, no regional logic in the choices, the supposed local character invisible. The test is whether the variation earns its label, whether the south is tasteable in it blind, or whether the name is the only thing distinguishing it from the standard.
Because this is a frame and not a fixed build, it overlaps with several specific things rather than replacing them. The standard wrap formats, the stuffed-pita family, and the individual fillings each deserve their own article rather than being crowded in here, since the regional reading is precisely a set of shifts applied to those, not a substitute for them. What holds across Peloponnese Style is the orientation: same broad formats as the rest of Greece, redirected through southern ingredients and preferences, judged on whether that redirection actually shows up on the plate.