Curved little boats of silver or plastic, I ferry islands of soup to waiting lips. I stir the pot, I measure a dash, I clink in a drawer full of kin

I am often small, unless you are planning a grand scheme. And I am often silly unless you find me in a sophisticated cuisine.

I show, I tell, but you wouldn’t say I do the thing I’m named for. If you forget me, you have my number in your phone.

I am at the base of what bakers do, but mobsters love me too. What am I?

In a cage with cellmates am I, And as I pound on the bars, they sigh But if I am ever to be free The world around me ceases to be