Mace strolls in like the swirl of javitri over a steaming biryani—bold, fragrant, and instantly perking up the senses. His passport is stamped with many origins: Old French “masse,” the sturdy medieval club that guarded kings; the glowing, lace-like spice sheath of the nutmeg cherished in every Indian kitchen; and, for nickname lovers, a punchy shortcut to Mason or Matthew. With that mix, he’s part knight, part chef, part easy-going buddy. Pop-culture buffs will hear lightsabers humming—thank you, Jedi Master Mace Windu—while sports fans may recall gridiron grit. Yet despite those starry shout-outs, Mace keeps a low-key charm, hovering around the 800-rank mark in U.S. baby charts year after year, like the reliable autorickshaw that always turns up when you need it. All told, Mace is a two-syllable sparkler: spicy enough for the masala, strong enough for the battlefield, and friendly enough for playground high-fives.
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