In Minnesota, we love a bargain. Enter Aldi’s ‘Aisle of Shame.’

While many Aldi shoppers hit the discount grocer for cheap chickpeas and chocolate bars, some have been known to scour stores across the metro area in search of decorative metal animals.

“I went to Elk River, Ostego, Monticello, Plymouth, Hopkins — I was going everywhere trying to find those darn little reindeer,” recalled Albertville’s Kim Schlachtenhaufen of her failed quest to purchase last year’s hottest holiday item.

Every Wednesday, Aldi restocks its “Aisle of Shame,” as it’s known to insiders, with a fresh crop of random merchandise you weren’t exactly looking for, but can’t help but buy. One week it’s pet sweaters and holiday gnomes. The next, it’s record players and bathrobes.

It’s the place where shoppers can reward themselves for completing a chore — and sometimes blow the money they saved on food by buying inessential baubles.

Since Aldi arrived in Minnesota in 2003, the chain has added nearly 80 stores statewide,roughly on par with the number of Targets and Cubs. A new Aldi opened in Ramsey in July and another will open in Oakdale this Friday. At a time when many shoppers are feeling inflation’s pinch, Aldi has leveraged its low food prices to hook customers on other goods, notably impulse-buy merchandise.

St. Paulite Kristin Pederson, a self-described “weird zealot” of Aldi groceries, says that even though she tends to be more of an Aisle of Shame “window shopper,” she’s fascinated by what others buy. “You’ll go in to get a gallon of milk, and these people are going out with, like, a patio set and a pair of pajamas.”

For whatever reason, Aldi’s combination of appealing products and affordable prices has stoked an outsize grassroots fandom. Multiple independently moderated online forums buzz with Aldi raves (“Please tell me I’m not the only one OBSESSED with these grapes!”) and requests for intel (“Any baklava sightings in the twin cities area?”).

For many forum members, deal hunting is a form of entertainment and a point of pride. And swapping tips about favorite foods or seasonal tchotchkes can bond them in the manner of band groupies or sports fans.

This fall, the 3.2 million-member Aisle of Shame Facebook community coalesced around a meme inadvertently started by a guy with a Ricky Martin haircut and salt-and-pepper goatee who posted a selfie with a scented candle that he’d grabbed while on an Aldi milk run. Seeing a budget-minded man who both completed chores and appreciated ambience sent the group collectively swooning. Members responded by posting so many pics of their candle-accessorized significant others (mostly husbands, but some dogs, cats and even a snake) that someone suggested printing a “candle cuties” calendar.

Aldi was founded in Germany by two brothers who took over their mother’s food market in 1946 and pioneered the concept of the discount grocery. The famously frugal pair eventually split their no-frills supermarket empire into separate companies: Aldi Sud (which runs the U.S. locations, launched in Iowa in 1976) and Aldi Nord (which bought Trader Joe’s in 1979). Today, the businesses operate a combined 12,000-plus stores worldwide. And in the wake of recent grocery price spikes — 11% in 2022 and 5% in 2023 — Aldi plans to open 800 more stores in the U.S. in the next five years.

Aldi’s business model relies on brutal efficiency: The compact stores stock a small selection of mostly private-label products, displayed in their cardboard packing boxes. Hours are limited and employees are few. Conveniences that most grocery shoppers take for granted, such as free bags and bagging assistance, are stripped away. Even carts require a 25-cent deposit.

Regulars adapt to Aldi’s inconveniences because what the chain lacks in ambience it makes up for in offering low prices on many items and a treasure hunting experience.

Pederson, a Roseville Aldi regular (go-tos include baking supplies, fizzy water and fish; she once gifted an Aldi ugly Christmas sweater to a friend), finds her love of the chain ironic, since she’s always hated grocery shopping — especially when she used to schlep her young children through a SuperTarget or Costco. Aldi’s small size makes the task go quickly, she says. And she likes saving money on house brands she perceives as essentially the same as the big nationals: “The first time I went to Aldi, I felt like I robbed a bank!”

Aldi fan Brigitte Bjorklund of Medina (favorite items include the flatbread, organic ground beef and dishwasher detergent) has found several Aisle of Shame deals, including a crock pot and 99-cent greeting cards. But she cautions that Aldi’s low grocery prices can deceive shoppers into thinking their merchandise is automatically cheaper than their competitors’. “It’s like a Jedi mind trick,” she said.

For some Aldi shoppers, the thrill of a bargain is amplified by passing along the secret to others — while showing off your spending savvy.

Pederson says she regularly admires the Aldi outfits of a friend who has perfected the self-effacing humblebrag: “If you say, What a cute dress! She’ll go, ‘Really, because I bought it at the same place I bought a head of cabbage.’ "

Pederson says she, too, can’t help deflect a compliment by revealing a purchase’s modest origins, a compulsion she attributes to Midwestern thrift culture. It seems to happen every time she brings a cheese plate from her favorite grocery store to a party. “It gives me no small amount of pleasure to go, ‘Oh, I bought it at Aldi.’ Especially if I’m someplace kind of fancy, and somebody’s been enjoying it, it’s kind of fun to be like: You don’t have to buy everything at Kowalski’s.”

Toni Karger, who lives a few blocks from the Richfield Aldi (favorite purchases from “the aisle of [stuff] I don’t need, but really want” include knockoff Crocs, $3 face serum and a $25 clearance ping-pong table), says she thinks discount shopping reveals generational differences about spending and status.

As a Gen Xer, she has no problem declaring that her $13 shoes came from the Aisle of Shame — something she says her daughter, a Gen Zer, wouldn’t do. “It’s almost like they’re embarrassed to wear something so cheap, and I’m proud of it,” she said. “The whole family makes fun of me because I love Aldi so much.”

Besides the bargains, one thing that draws Karger to Aldi on a near-daily basis is the sense of community it cultivates. Seeing the same staffers and shoppers makes it feel like a small-town store, she says. And she can send her autistic son to Aldi on an errand, which she wouldn’t feel comfortable doing at a big-box store.

Another thing Karger wouldn’t do at a big-box is let out a loud “caw caw” — the signature bird call that Aldi fans use to alert others of a special find — as she did recently when she snatched up an Aisle of Shame eyebrow-shaping tool. No one replied to her call, Karger said, but she hopes the trend will catch on. “I wish more people would ‘caw caw,’ because I think it brings a sense that we’re all laughing at our own silliness.”