Rising from the ashes, oh noble beast of life. Holy smokes you may cry, as it's fire consumes all strife.

I’m a mountain made of ice, but I float upon the sea, and what you see above is only part of me.

Curved like a smile, a symbol of luck, clinging tightly to the earth, it guards the stallions stride.

If mercury is not your thing then eat a chicken wing, but if flaky meat thou doth desire, throw that baby in the fryer! * No children were harmed in the making of this riddle*

I hold your finest feasts and light meals, Yet I never take a single bite myself. Spin me around, and I shift beneath your meal, On the Earth's fiery crust, I am molten rock by another name.