I’ve never set foot inside Aldi before – but can it tempt me away from Waitrose?
With a typical shop costing a third of that at my usual supermarket, I went to see if I could save money and tick everything off my list
When it comes to shopping, I do the ‘macho’ stuff: beef and pork from a farmer friend over the hill, curries delivered by Clay’s Kitchen. But now and then, for a little domestic balance, I haul myself to the supermarket.
My wife, Emily, gives me a list and dispatches me to Waitrose in Wellington, Somerset. I should mention that I edited the Waitrose magazine for almost 20 years. It all went swimmingly until five years ago, when I said something mean in private to a vegan who shopped me for it. There was an international incident and I quit my job. They were a beloved client and, as it was all my stupid fault, I’m grateful that they still let me into their shop. I’m reminded of it each time I go there, so, as I hold the shopping list, I always tend to both shudder at the memory and the impending cost. Of which I could deviate from if I wished to, but the mission must be complete. No item must be forgotten. With a two- and four-year-old in residence, the domestic world is always on a knife edge.
There’s no good reasoning that there is a cost of living crisis. I must get turkey slices for the youngest, Kissabel apples for his brother, small macaroni shapes and frankfurters for both, and rice noodles for Emily’s spicy, cleansing midweek broths.
Trying to prove a point just after Christmas, I dismissed Emily’s utterings about Waitrose and trooped to Morrisons in Taunton. The place was dimly lit, with piles of rotting sprouts and – in spite of its colossal size – no frankfurters, broccoli, turkey slices or Dijon mustard, and the famed fish counter was a measly affair.
Yes, my wallet didn’t suffer irreconcilable damage, but then, with my tail between my legs, I had to drive to my usual Waitrose in order to fulfil the list.
Then, what’s this? A report by Which? reveals that a typical shopping basket at Aldi costs a third of that of Waitrose. And I hear there’s a shiny, smart and bijou one in Taunton.
Aldi, whose origins are German from the 1960s, now operates more than 10,000 supermarkets worldwide. There were 956 in the UK at the last count and, for me, shopping in this one will be a novelty. I grab Emily’s list, carefully written by her to match the aisles at Waitrose, which she could walk down and shop blindfolded in 20 minutes.
“I’ll do the shop this week,” I say, feigning generosity, secretly determined to prove that one can shop at somewhere like Aldi, save a few pounds and avoid a domestic explosion. My last similar mission to Waitrose (no meat, except sausages, and no booze) with 56 items in my basket cost me £150.60. And with the Taunton Aldi’s size comparable to the Wellington Waitrose, I reckon it’s a fair fight.
It’s a sunny morning at 8.30am and on entry, I’m greeted by a vision of bright, sparkling, clean and fresh-looking aisles. The veg is left and right, the shelves are bulging, the assortment at first glance looks promising – and it’s a vast improvement on the sorry sight that met me at Morrisons.
I’ve brought my own bags, of course. Plenty from Waitrose. (How forlorn one feels at letting the planet down when you come to pack and see you’ve not brought enough…)
As I shop, I miss the gun they give you in Waitrose where you zap and pack as you go (a former boss of the store once told me that his customers were so honest they tended to over-zap rather than secrete un-zapped items).
With the veg, I’m on a roll. Tenderstem broccoli galore, Galia melon, big, fat ripe avocados, nice-looking tomatoes and carrots and, while I spy no lamb’s lettuce, there are neat bags of smaller leaves.
And plenty of items are cheaper (for example, avocados are 89p vs £2, or little gem lettuce are 75p for two vs £1, leeks £2.38 per kilo vs £2.80). OK, so there are no baby courgettes, but Aldi has baby sweetcorn and right now this shop is leading the charge. It gets better in the dairy section where I spy a huge 1kg tub of Greek yoghurt for just £1.45. It’s not on the list, but only a fool could resist!
But reaching the cheese, things begin to go downhill. The selection is paltry and an insult to our great cheese-making nation. There is little beyond Cheddar, Parmesan and feta, and certainly no Manchego.
Next, I can only find a pale-looking own-brand Dijon, no Marmite (no Marmite?!) but their own ‘mighty yeast extract’; not a decent cheese cracker in sight, no Earl Grey tea, no rinse aid and nothing that I would actually call bread. Yes, there is a vast aisle labelled ‘Bakery’, but it is filled to the brim with sliced loaves, some of which feign rustic chic, but all of which are the product of high-speed mixing, fast yeast, and riddled with additives.
Proudly occupying the centre of the store is the middle aisle. It’s stuffed full of ‘special buys’: temptations no one needs. Exactly the sorts of things that clog the oceans and wreck the planet: a bear play gym (I have no idea either), festive cushions, electric leaf blowers and cordless impact drivers. I spot a pile of thermal gravy boats. A mist of madness comes over me. I grab one and pop it in my trolley.
Perusing the wine shelves I grab a bottle of Spanish Albariño (£7.99) and a Swiss Pinot Noir (£9.99) then head for the tills. Unlike Waitrose or Morrisons, this isn’t a chatty moment of human interaction as you pack in good order – fresh/store cupboard etc to help with the unpacking at home. With no space beyond the till, you must pack as fast as you can, or else.
Less the wine, I bought 88 items for £146. So Aldi wins hands down there. But it took me over an hour and with no fresh raw prawns, no actual slices of real turkey and no rice noodles, I must schlep to Waitrose or face the wrath of Emily.
Back home and she asks what exactly I plan to do with all the Greek yogurt, the ‘mighty’ Marmite replica leaves a horrid taste in the mouth and the Albariño is thin and acrid.
But the veg, bananas, apples and tangerines are fine. The orange juice is good, there are very decent chipolatas – great value – and good prosciutto, too. And all that yoghurt is rich and voluptuous.
So my final verdict is this: to be able to shop in a store that reflects the exciting progress of British food culture; for the exotic treat of a baby courgette and for the smiling service of staff, sorry Aldi, but I’ll hunker down, work harder for the readies and stick with Waitrose.