Hotdog
I'm not a dog, but I have a name like one.I'm warm inside and often served on a bun.With mustard or ketchup, I’m quite the treat At ball games or picnics, I’m something to eat.What am I?
Soup
I'm served in a bowl, sometimes hot, sometimes not.With veggies and meat, I’m stirred in a pot.A spoon is my friend, to bring out my taste I warm you up, with nothing to waste.
What am I?
Samsa
I’m baked or sometimes fried,With meat or veggies tucked inside.My shape is often like a triangle neat,Golden and crispy — a handheld treat.
What am I?
Hamburger
I come with a bun, both top and base,With lettuce, cheese, and a meaty taste.Add some ketchup or maybe more,I’m served at diners, stands, and stores.Juicy and round, I’m a tasty bite —What am I, served day and night?
Pilaf
I’m made with rice, and carrots bright,Meat on top makes every bite right.Cooked in a kazan with flavor so deep,In Uzbek homes, I'm a treasure to keep.
What am I?
Manti
Little pockets, steamed with care,Filled with meat beyond compare.Soft dough wraps the tasty prize,Served hot and ready to surprise.
What am I?