I am a house where the tenant is still, Carved with precision and ancient skill. I'm made of stone to guard the dead, With heavy lid and a cold, hard bed

I’m a vessel that’s soft and quite long, Where five little travelers belong. But I often go stray, In the wash, far away, Leaving partners to wonder what’s wrong.

Get rid of my first and last, and I am a computer part that's very expensive at the moment Remove my second, and I go hand in hand with fortune When I'm complete, I surround pictures or paintings

I'm born of orchid, yet lack floral grace, A culinary friend, in time and space. Though plain I seem, my essence is grand, Lending depth to flavors, across the land. What am I?

Sometimes I slice Other times I have eight strings But all times I shred What am I?