I used to be a bad grocery shopper. Terrible, actually.

It was the same story every time. Like a middle-aged Charlie Brown, I would always get the cart with the busted wheel, or the basket with the rotting lettuce plastered on the bottom.

At some point, usually about 20 minutes in, I’d be standing in the middle of the aisle — clock ticking, smooth jazz or early 90s pop playing, anxiety rising — consult my grocery list, and confirm that I’d only managed to locate a loaf of bread. Like a child lost at a theme park, a sense of panic and overwhelm would wash over me, and I’d think seriously about bagging it. Pizza night, kids.

Overstressed, over time, over budget. I was over it. Then along came ALDI.

With its bare-bones, no-frills approach, ALDI has mastered minimalism; it makes air look superfluous. The result is beautiful simplicity.

At most grocery stores, you have to choose from 20 different kinds of maple syrup, peanut butter and olive oil. It’s agony. At ALDI, there’s one or two of each; grab what you need and keep it moving.

The manageable size of ALDI stores, their predictable layouts, their lightning-quick check-outs — you won’t find a NASCAR pit crew that moves faster — all of it means you can get in and out in 30-45 minutes and get on with your life, freeing up time for other domestic drudgeries.

Let’s talk about value.

At ALDI I can get chocolate from Belgium, croissants from France, and stroopwaffel from the Netherlands; the vast majority of items are safe for kids with food allergies, like my oldest son; and the produce is at least on par with its pricier competitors. Throw in what probably amounts to a 30% discount on your grocery bill — I’ve found it’s nearly impossible to break $200 at ALDI — and it’s downright criminal to shop anywhere else. That’s not hyperbole. I believe you should do time.

This being an article about grocery stores, we need to take quick stock (pun intended) of ALDI’s competition:

Costco — I don’t want to anger the Kirkland Krazies, so I’ll tread carefully. Look, I don’t need to get my groceries from a farmer’s market in Tuscany; I just prefer not to get them from an airplane hangar.

Whole Foods — Someone really oughta call this place Whole Paycheck. Also, the uniform requirement — Hoka or ON sneakers, Lululemon tank, pants or leggings, or a snazzy blazer — is a bit much. Everyone looks like they came straight from barre or the boardroom. I’m just coming from my house.

Safeway — It’s the safe way to spend Whole Foods money for produce that tastes like water.

Trader Joe’s — Fantastic snacks and frozen foods; it’s just tough to buy for a large family. Also, I’m not in marketing, but not having a coffee bar called “Joe’s Joe” just feels like a missed opportunity.

H Mart — I love H Mart. Just don’t go there for white people food (bagels, bread, crackers, cheeses), because they don’t have any.

As you can see, it’s ALDI by a mile.

ALDI is also a refuge. I have a second-grader, kindergartner and four-month-old twin babies at home. If you see me at ALDI, you probably think I’m at the grocery store. Nah. I’m at the beach. And they say having kids is limiting, but I’d say I go to the beach one, two, sometimes three times a week.

Thanks to ALDI, I shop with swagger. I’ve found my mojo. It’s kind of like “How Stella Got Her Groove Back,” except it’s “How Zach Got His Food Back.” Which probably won’t generate a lot of scripts.

Perhaps Michelangelo said it best: “Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.” Guy would have loved ALDI. Don’t change a thing, ALDI. You’re a masterpiece.

Zach Przystup (zprzystup@gmail.com) works for the Fulbright Program at the U.S. Department of State and writes about parenting and family life.