Across the inland provinces of Salerno and Avellino, O' Peluso takes a rounded or slightly oblong form, ivory-white or a shade warmer depending on the milk. It is a modest piece, about two hundred grams, and it has no crust to weigh it down. That lightness is part of the appetite: a cheese you can hold in one hand and finish while it still feels newly made.
Lamb or kid rennet is introduced into the milk. Almost all of the curd then goes back into a steel pot, or into a copper caccavo set over the fire. After the break, small lumps are lifted out by hand so the mass can gather itself without stray grains.
Fingers press until the curd becomes a compact body; that pressed cheese is then laid in fascere. It is wrapped in paper, vine leaves or parchment, or in broad leaves such as fig, a simple parcel that keeps the shape and the moisture close.
It is eaten at once, or the following day at most, and it can be warmed again. The clock is short on purpose: this is a cheese of the next meal, not of the cellar, and the heat only returns the softness that the press first gave it.