Lidl has changed Irish shopping.The first time I staggered out with 20 extra tins of tomatoes and a trampoline.
Bouncing to Bryan Ferry while cooking Spag Bol on November evenings balanced out the carbs nicely.
This week I got fridge magnets without actually having to brave a chilly Venice in February.

Serendipity

My Lidl love affair began on the side of the motorway, a discreet distance outside Mullingar.  Thursday, my favorite shopping day, was not for the fainthearted. Pensioners fought bare-knuckled, Nigerians hunted in packs around the silent, grey-bricked warehouse. Back then neither Mammies, nor Moms, would be seen dead there.

You never knew what was on offer back in those heady, early days, before newspapers, TV and glossy brochures advertised next weeks one-off specials. Thursday’s Non Food Items – NFIs – ranged from fishing rods and frying pans to canoes and cardigans. Lidl knew full well we’d have to work off all that cheese and Wurst. With Teutonic doggedness they worked us up into  frenzy of muscular activity. No excuses, indoor gym equipment hung from the ceiling one week replaced by skis the next. Lidl believed in us, valiantly awakening the sleeping sports enthusiasts cowering within. Neon sportswear in eye-watering sizes prepared us for the obesity epidemic. Anatomy-enhancing lycra proved irresistible to the Irish Mammy shopping for mortified teens.

Battle lines

To be fair we resisted the strange, the stodgy and the outright stinky. Leaden cakes, multicolored sausage and non-Heinz baked beans. Peculiarly shaped things in jars, odd-tasting smoked meats. Our brand loyalty is second to none across Europe. ‘Pass the Hellmans, Mary. ‘D’you fancy a cup of Barry’s, Liam?’ You  couldn’t dream of offering visitors strange-tasting muck however cheap, and families had their limits. Cornflakes were Kellogs and no imitations worked of a Monday morning.

Lidl persevered, no surrender. The East Europeans came, and stayed, unlikely mediators in the growing standoff between dyed-in-the-wool Irish Mammy and Herr Lidl. Their trolleys overflowed with beer and grotesque pickles. They were no strangers to cooking from scratch either, with real fish and vegetables, resisting avoirdupois.

My tales of Lidle love and serendipity entertained my friends. Quality, variety and price worked for me. I loved reading the labels in my best German accent. You could keep your soft lighting, plastered walls, psychological music and smarm. Too much fun to be had here with all the laminating and shredding, trampolining and hedging opportunities.

Suit yourself

I wonder if there’s a committee to decide Lidl product pushes.No one person could do it with a straight face, surely.

My all time favorite is The Businessman. Pictures in ’08 showed suave executives, nonchalantly leaning on desks, looking successful. Both navy polyester suits, one pinstriped for variety, they came with executive shirt, jocks ‘n’ sox, plastic briefcase,watch, wallet, umbrella, pen and leather-look shoes. And cufflinks! I was reminded of those Easons ‘Build the Titanic in 14 Weeks’ ring binder sets. Louis Copeland, a revered Irish men’s outfitter, reviewed the shiny €20.00 suits. ‘Grand,’ he declared with professional aplomb, ‘for a young fellow starting his first job.’

Changing times

The Recession came. In ‘the current economic climate‘ you couldn’t get into the Lidl carpark. Posh German cars found their way home. Lidl bowed to the inevitable. We were prepared to pay … so our favorite brands finally graced their new fancy shelves. That watershed brought tears to the eyes of this veteran shopper. Slick BMW-trolleys glided under bright lights, eroding some of the early magic. Nowadays you meet everyone you’ve ever known. They even changed their name for us. It’s ‘Liddle’ now and the tag line ‘Choose to live a Lidl’  continues to deliver on it’s promise. Here for the long haul …

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