李子柒：隐居的美食达人和田园“公主”

秦虞

李子柒是中国内地美食短视频创作者，是中国最具影响力的网红之一，获聘“中国农民丰收节推广大使”。她的视频展示了春耕夏种、秋收冬藏，她用一餐一饭让四季流转与时节更迭重新具备美学意义，她把中国人传统而本真的生活方式呈现出来，让现代都市人找到了一种心灵的归属感，也让世界理解了一种生活中的中国文化。本文选自《纽约时报》（有删减），原文作者Tejal Rao是《纽约时报》的加利福尼亚州美食评论家、专栏作者，曾两度赢得詹姆斯·比尔德基金会奖。文章主要陈述了李子柒成为隔离时期的田园“公主”的几个原因：李子柒所呈现的自给自足的乡村田园生活成了逃離现代生活，寻求安慰的可靠媒介;李子柒展示了一粥一饭背后所需要的大量繁杂的劳作，让漫长而艰苦的食物制作变得意义非凡;李子柒将艰苦的农村生活诗意化，使其成为人们向往的田园生活。

本文为议论文，全文560词，建议用时10分钟。

1. 了解文中涉及的李子柒成为田园“公主”的几个原因并思考李子柒走红的其他原因。

2. 思考“李子柒现象”形成的原因，并发表自己的观点。

3. 探究传播中国传统文化的意义及如何向世界讲述中国故事。

Like so many home cooks during the outbreak of the diseases， after Ive used up the green tops of my scallions（大葱）， 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（復杂性） 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？