Riavulillo* is a Campanian name spoken in dialect, and it is also the wording for a little devil. That double identity is why the subject holds attention: the label itself already hints at heat, mischief and a compact bite of character, without needing a longer legend. Regione Campania is the public source for this framing, and the claim stays inside that attribution rather than stretching across Italy.
Appetite gathers around how it meets the table. It may be taken fresh, or set on the coals so the flavour is pushed forward. Fresh keeps the thing immediate and cool on the tongue; the grill adds smoke and a sharper edge, the sort of contrast a “little devil” nickname already prepares you to expect. Neither path is dressed up as a recipe here—only as two supported ways of eating.
The useful distinction is simple: choose freshness when you want the product as it is, or the brace when you want that taste lifted. Keep the nickname in mind as a cue, not a menu. From here the natural next step is other Campanian dialect foods recorded in the same regional register, still read as named products rather than as a tourist itinerary.