A Riddle

(an original)

An enemy came and took my life,
In a cold pail to be left to mold.
And once he was done, he killed my flesh.
Ground me up to be seared and seasoned.

At the same time, was my partner plucked from the earth.
His roots snipped, severing his umbilical cord from the soil.
Washed like a newborn, but then diced into strands.

In the warmth of the sun was yet another taken from being.
Plucked, and then smashed to a clumpy paste.

And then was I thrown on to the hot metal,
My partner fried in the hot liquid.
It was then he was thrown into the Styrofoam box,
I followed after, the clumpy paste next.
And then, as if a final insult, was I topped with my own moldy life.
Do you know my name?