Baaaattle of the sheep’s cheese: Manchego vs. Ossau Iraty

Two types of sheep’s cheese—one Spanish, one French. Which would ewe choose?

Manchego is the most popular sheep’s cheese, and with good reason. It originates from the La Mancha region of Spain, south-east of Madrid, where dutiful Manchego sheep produce thick milk, which explains the uniquely rich flavour characteristic of this semi-hard cheese.

Taste the Difference Manchego

I tried Sainsbury’s Spanish Manchego, Taste the Difference; I could certainly taste the difference! Nutty, smooth and seriously moreish— the Ferrero Rocher of cheese—I could have easily eaten the entire block, slice by delicious slice.

I felt compelled to make a strange sort of risotto with this gorgeous Spanish specimen. (Even the recipe I adapted has risotto in inverted commas).

Olive, edamame bean, cabbage and Manchego 'risotto'

Odd as it looks atop garish purple cabbage, the Manchego rose to the occasion, adding a welcome creaminess. And in my view, any dish that involves lashings of butter and wine can never go far wrong. Man, I love Manchego 5/5.

It’s a tough act to follow, and Ossau Iraty is no pushover. Produced in the south-western part of France in Aquitaine, it’s one of only a handful of sheep’s cheeses to boast the Appellation d'origine contrôlée (AOC), the highest possible protection of origin. Plus, it’s a two-time winner of the best cheese in the world title at the World Cheese Awards.

Ossau Iraty 

With such an impressive CV, Ossau has every reason to be revered. It’s slightly firmer and paler than Manchego, yet the flavour is stronger, less nutty, and the texture is smoother. I ate it melted on toast with some fruity chutney, and it was perfectly palatable. That being said, I didn’t feel a desire to scoff the whole wedge, as I had experienced with the Manchego. Ossau alrighty 3/5.

Feeling sheepish

Sardinia, land of history, hiking, cycling, sheep and azure coastlines along with blood soup and maggot cheese—casu marzu (literal translation: rotten cheese, mmm). Actually, I haven’t been to this picturesque island; my parents have just returned and report that it’s a cheese-lover’s dream. To my delight, mum brought me back some, and thankfully it was larva-free.

As I eagerly sliced open the vacuum packed wedge of Caciotta Ovina, it felt dense and smelt rather powerful. It has a pale yellow, grainy hue. However, on meeting the knife, it doesn’t crumble like other hard cheeses; in fact, it peeled gently off the knife onto my assorted crackers with the elastic quality of Cheddar or Gouda.

Sheep’s milk naturally contains more fat and protein than cow’s or goat’s and I could perceptibly taste a difference. Alongside the unfamiliar flavour, it tasted piquant, like a soft version of Parmesan.

Caciotta Ovina

Even after a large Sunday lunch, inevitable hunger pangs struck again in the evening, and it wasn’t difficult to decide what to do about it: more of my new best friend from Sardinia! In fact, the Caciotta Ovina tasted even better—unsurprisingly—melted on toast with Britain’s favourite fashionista’s Peach & Apricot Chutney.