I am the most eaten fruit on Earth, I grow on a giant herb rather than a tree, and I am even a little bit radioactive. What am I?

A tech giant, a scientist's falling fruit, and New York's nickname all borrowed my name. What am I?

I was born in Naples, folded thin in New York and stacked deep in Chicago, and a leaning tower stands in my homeland. What am I?

A German city gave me my name, yet you will not find a scrap of ham inside me. What am I?

I am famous for helping you see in the dark, and I dangle on a stick as a reward. What am I?

Photographers make you say my name for a photo, and old tales claimed the moon was made of me. What am I?

I am a bundle of tiny flowers you eat before they bloom, and one president banned me from his plane. What am I?

Nobody can agree whether I or the chicken came first, and walking on my shells means treading very carefully. What am I?

I am just one of hundreds of pasta shapes, and the trick to eating me is a fork and a slow twirl. What am I?

I have my own day of the week, and I fold in half to cradle my Mexican fillings. What am I?

I am rolled but never cooked, wrapped in a sheet of seaweed, and eaten with two sticks. What am I?

I wear a crown but rule nothing, I am neither a pine nor an apple, and I am really many little fruits fused into one. What am I?

I am a fruit everyone treats like a vegetable, I hide one enormous seed, and I made toast famous. What am I?

I am neither plant nor animal but a kingdom of my own, I sprout overnight in the dark, and some of my cousins can kill. What am I?

My knotted shape is said to copy arms folded in prayer, and monks first twisted me from salty dough. What am I?

A long sour soak turned me from a cucumber into something new, and being in me means being in trouble. What am I?