Tonight I dash into Publix to pick up some roast beef for Biggy so I won't have to hear him cry in the morning about what he's gonna have for breakfast. While I'm waiting for the woman in the shower cap to slice it up, I see this:
"What the heck is mortadella?" I ask her, wondering if anyone would actually eat something with MORT [Middle English, death, from Old French, from Latin mors, mort-; see mer- in Indo-European roots] in it.
"It's made from ground pork paste and studded with pork fat taken from the throat of the pig," she informs me.