秦虞

李子柒是中國內(nèi)地美食短視頻創(chuàng)作者，是中國最具影響力的網(wǎng)紅之一，獲聘“中國農(nóng)民豐收節(jié)推廣大使”。她的視頻展示了春耕夏種、秋收冬藏，她用一餐一飯讓四季流轉(zhuǎn)與時節(jié)更迭重新具備美學(xué)意義，她把中國人傳統(tǒng)而本真的生活方式呈現(xiàn)出來，讓現(xiàn)代都市人找到了一種心靈的歸屬感，也讓世界理解了一種生活中的中國文化。本文選自《紐約時報》（有刪減），原文作者Tejal Rao是《紐約時報》的加利福尼亞州美食評論家、專欄作者，曾兩度贏得詹姆斯·比爾德基金會獎。文章主要陳述了李子柒成為隔離時期的田園“公主”的幾個原因：李子柒所呈現(xiàn)的自給自足的鄉(xiāng)村田園生活成了逃離現(xiàn)代生活，尋求安慰的可靠媒介;李子柒展示了一粥一飯背后所需要的大量繁雜的勞作，讓漫長而艱苦的食物制作變得意義非凡;李子柒將艱苦的農(nóng)村生活詩意化，使其成為人們向往的田園生活。

本文為議論文，全文560詞，建議用時10分鐘。

1. 了解文中涉及的李子柒成為田園“公主”的幾個原因并思考李子柒走紅的其他原因。

2. 思考“李子柒現(xiàn)象”形成的原因，并發(fā)表自己的觀點。

3. 探究傳播中國傳統(tǒng)文化的意義及如何向世界講述中國故事。

Like so many home cooks during the outbreak of the diseases， after Ive used up the green tops of my scallions（大蔥）， I drop the white， hairy roots into a glass of water to regenerate， feeling pleased with my own sense of thrift and practicality. But last week， after the Chinese Internet star Li Ziqi posted a new cooking video to YouTube called “The Life of Garlic”， I wished I could graduate from scallions on the windowsill.

In the 12 minute video， Ms Li pushes garlic cloves into a patch of earth outside her home. The sprouts grow， reaching up toward the sky. She cooks the young， fresh green garlic shoots with pork.

Ms Li， who lives in a village in Sichuan Province and rarely speaks to the press， looks not unlike a Disney princess in her crown braids， wearing a silvery fur cape， walking gracefully and slowly in the snow. In 2019， at the age of 29， she was famous for her videos of rural self sufficiency， posted on Weibo and YouTube. Ms Lis story， as she tells it， is that she left home as a teenager to find work， but returned to the countryside to take care of her grandmother， and then began documenting her life. Though she used to shoot her videos alone， on her phone， she now works with an assistant and a videographer.

For a worldwide audience in isolation， her DIY pastoral fantasies have become a reliable source of escape and comfort.

Ms Li doesnt explain anything as she goes. In fact， she tends to work in silence， without the use of any modern kitchen devices. Her kitchen is nothing like mine， in Los Angeles. But watching Ms Li on my laptop， while eating a bowl of buttered popcorn for dinner， I think maybe I could be happy living like that， too， soaked in the sheer natural beauty of the countryside， devoting myself to extremely traditional ways of cooking.

Like the main character in some kind of post apocalyptic novel， Ms Li is almost always alone， though she doesnt seem lonely， riding her horse through fields of wildflowers， or carrying baskets of sweet potatoes under fruit trees. She seems tireless， focused， confident， independent.

The videos are deeply soothing（慰藉的）. But its not just that—they reveal the intricacy（復(fù)雜性） and intensity of labor that goes into every single component of every single dish， while also making the long hard processes of producing food seem meaningful and worthwhile.

Its the complete opposite of most cooking content， the kind that suggests that everything is so quick and easy that you can do it， too， probably in less than 30 minutes.

But Ms Li also romanticizes the struggles of farm life， and， as any influencer would， monetizes that appeal. In her online shop， she sells a curved cleaver， similar to the ones she uses in her videos， as well as loose Hanfu inspired linen clothing， Sichuan ginseng honey and chile sauces.

“I simply want people in the city to know where their food comes from，” Ms Li said， in a rare interview with Goldthread last fall.

In isolation， watching Ms Li gather rose petals and ripe tomatoes， I catch myself thinking， is this sequence set in the past， or the future？ Are these videos a record of the collective food knowledge weve already lost， or an idealized vision of its recovery？