Why Germany's Best Grocery Store is Actually in America

There's a particular kind of homesickness that hits you in the most unexpected places. For me, it's standing in the fluorescent-lit aisles of Rewe during the Saturday buying frenzy (the majority of German grocery stores are closed on Sundays), staring at €4.99 hummus, when it dawns on me: my favorite German grocery store is 3,900 miles away in Hoboken, New Jersey, USA.

I'm talking about Trader Joe's, of course.

The Family Tree No One Talks About

Let me blow your mind if you don't already know this: Trader Joe's is owned by the Albrecht family, the same dynasty behind Aldi Nord. Yes, that Aldi—the one with locations on every other corner here in Berlin, where I buy my toilet paper.

In 1979, Theo Albrecht (the "Nord" half of the Aldi brothers' empire split) purchased Trader Joe's from its founder, Joe Coulombe. Meanwhile, his brother Karl's Aldi Süd operates the Aldi stores in the United States. So technically, I have access to the German grocery empire here in Berlin. But it's not the same. Not even close.

Walking into an Aldi Nord in Prenzlauer Berg,  feels like shopping in an efficient, somewhat grimy warehouse. On the other hand, walking into the Trader Joe's in Hoboken, feels like stumbling into a tiki-themed fever dream, designed by someone who desperately wants you to try their new gorgonzola gnocchi.

Why Trader Joe's Works (And Why It Hurts)

The economics of Trader Joe's are fascinating, and honestly, a little bit insane by American retail standards. Here's what makes it different:

The Private Label Gambit: About 80% of what Trader Joe's sells is their own brand. They work directly with suppliers to create unique products, cutting out the middleman and the national brand markup. This is how they sell Charles Shaw wine ("Two-Buck Chuck") for $2.99 and how their Everything But The Bagel seasoning became a cultural phenomenon at $1.99.

The Small Format Store: Most Trader Joe's locations are relatively small—around 10,000-15,000 square feet compared to a typical supermarket's 40,000-50,000. Smaller stores mean lower overhead, less inventory waste, and—critically—fewer employees needed per shift.

Limited Selection, Maximum Efficiency: Where a typical grocery store might stock 50,000 SKUs (stock keeping units), Trader Joe's carries around 4,000. This seems counterintuitive, but it's brilliant. Less choice means faster restocking, less waste, lower carrying costs, and customers who spend less time wandering and more time buying.

The Part That Actually Matters to Me: The Workers

But here's what really makes me miss Trader Joe's while I'm bagging my own groceries at Aldi for the second time this week: how they treat their employees.

American retail is, generally speaking, a hellscape for workers. Minimum wage, no benefits, erratic schedules, and the constant threat of replacement. Trader Joe's is different—not perfect, but noticeably different.

The Pay: Trader Joe's typically pays well above minimum wage. In 2024, crew members (their term for employees) reportedly started around $15-18 per hour depending on location, with "Mates" (supervisors) earning significantly more. In high cost-of-living areas, starting wages could reach $20+. For American retail, this is practically revolutionary.

The Benefits: Full-time employees get health insurance, dental, vision, and a 401(k) retirement plan with company contributions. Part-time workers (20+ hours) can also access health benefits. Again, in America, where healthcare is tied to employment and many retailers classify everyone as part-time to avoid providing benefits, this is huge.

The Culture: This is harder to quantify, but every American who shops at Trader Joe's knows it: the employees generally seem... happy? They're chatty, they wear Hawaiian shirts, they'll discuss the merits of the cauliflower gnocchi versus the regular gnocchi unprompted. The company promotes from within, maintains lower turnover than industry standard, and the bell-ringing system (instead of intercoms) creates a weirdly communal vibe.

Is it perfect? No. There have been unionization efforts at some locations, with workers citing inconsistent scheduling and wage stagnation. But compared to Walmart, Amazon, or most American grocery chains, Trader Joe's looks downright utopian.

The Economics of Being Nice(r)

Here's the thing about Trader Joe's labor model: it actually makes financial sense, even if it seems counterintuitive.

Lower Turnover: Retail turnover in the U.S. averages 60-70% annually. Training new employees is expensive. If you pay better and treat people better, they stay longer. Those Hawaiian-shirt-wearing employees know where everything is and can answer questions about products because they've been there for years, not weeks.

Higher Productivity: Happy employees work harder and more efficiently. They also don't call in sick as much or quietly steal (inventory "shrinkage" costs U.S. retailers billions annually). When you're paid fairly and have health insurance, you have less incentive to quietly pocket those dark chocolate peanut butter cups.

Brand Loyalty: Customers respond to happy workers. It creates an atmosphere where people want to return. Trader Joe's has cult-like customer loyalty that translates to consistent revenue and the ability to charge slightly higher margins than Aldi while still seeming affordable.

Operational Efficiency: Because the store is smaller and the selection curated, you need fewer workers per shift, which means you can afford to pay them more. It's not generosity—it's just smart math.

The Cruel Irony of It All

So here I am, an American in Berlin, in the land that gave the world Aldi, living 5-10 minutes from three different Aldis, and I'm pining for the German-owned grocery store that somehow feels more humane than almost anything in American retail.

Germany has strong labor protections, mandatory paid vacation, universal healthcare not tied to employment, and generally better working conditions than the United States. And yet, the German-owned store that chose to implement worker-friendly policies in America feels like something special precisely because America is such a dystopian landscape for retail workers.

Trader Joe's proves that you can treat workers decently, pay them fairly, provide benefits, AND run a profitable business with cult customer loyalty. They did it by being smart about real estate, inventory, and brand strategy. The "good employer" part isn't charity—it's part of the business model.

The tragedy is that they're the exception, not the rule. 

What I Actually Miss

It's not just the ready made pico de gallo and spinach artichoke dip I miss. It's walking into a store that feels like a community. Where the company isn't actively trying to figure out how to replace them with self-checkout machines. Where "crew member" isn't just corporate-speak, but reflects a genuine attempt to flatten hierarchy.

I love Berlin. I love the bakeries, the people watching, and the energy of the city. But sometimes, on a grey October day, TODAY, I think about those Hawaiian shirts and the sound of bells ringing through the aisles—and I feel the particular ache of missing something that was always German to begin with by design.

The best German grocery store is in America. And from Berlin, that's both hilarious and heartbreaking.

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This blog post was started while eating Ikea cookies and trying not to think about Jingle Jangle. If you are living in different country than where you grew up, what are some things that you miss about “home”?