I have wings, but I can't fly. I have ribs, but I can't breathe. When the sky is on fire, I can always be found.

I hide behind a row of tiny stars. Without my help, you will not pass.

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'm titular, yet they ask 'Who?', I've nothing more to add A running joke for those that know. Bit overplayed? A tad I'm full of fun and whimsy but can also be quite deep A bloke, a box, a screwdriver, and beverages that steep