Just some random observations because I feel like writing today:
The Spanish-language Wikipedia entry has some interesting information on the word tamal: It comes from Nahuatl, as pointed out upthread, and means “wrapped” (I recall “packet” being another translation), but other words are used for the same food throughout Central and South America, sometimes different words within the same country.
As Pulykamell pointed out, masa is made from corn treated with lime in a process known as nixtamalization (notice tamal is right there in the middle of that word). The process has several benefits, one being that it allows us to absorb the niacin in the corn, thus avoiding a disease called pellagra that results from using untreated corn as a staple food. Apparently, the nixtamalization process didn’t make it across the Atlantic, and the untreated forms of corn are what you’ll find in Europe to this day (unless you go looking for masa harina).
I was in the habit of making tamales a few years ago. It’s not too much work once you get the process down and assuming you’re not feeding an army. My method was to fry pork ribs, scrape the meat off the bones, chop it into small pieces and season it, spread masa over squares of parchment paper (which works fine) and roll ‘em up. I wouldn’t call that authentic or anything, but I think it’s not too far off the mark, either. I kept them in the freezer and steamed two at a time in their wrappers in a pressure cooker, and it was very convenient and really hit the spot. I stopped because it’s too much of a calorie bomb for dinner and because I usually have other things for lunch.
In the early 1980s, there was a burrito place in Chicago that was well known for serving good, cheap food in a very bad neighborhood. Wish I could remember more. It was north of downtown, a small venue like a bar, with a grill that always had a huge mound of chopped meat cooking away. The burritos were foot-long monsters wrapped in flour tortillas, and it took a long time to finish eating just one. Our Hispanic friends used to laugh at us gringos, saying, “Oh, you went to that place? Man those things are gross! You don’t know what kind of meat that is, and it’s all cold by the time you finish eating it!” Actually, there was something a bit peculiar about the meat, and, many years later, I was reminded of those burritos when I tried horse meat. I didn’t really care about the grief our friends gave us because they’d obviously eaten at that place many times.