In Casa De Jorge’s pineapple habañero salsa, one can expect to find pineapple and habañero peppers. In its roasted garlic and olives salsa (Casa De Jorge’s top seller), the ingredients are equally straightforward. These examples then beg an entertaining question – what exactly is in the ominously christened “Stupid Hot” salsa?

Patrick Barron has been manning the Casa De Jorge Salsa (CDJS) tent at Musikfest for the past five years in order to help his friend George Gilreath, the owner of CDJS. In Gilreath’s words, Barron is his “media manager.” Barron, on the other hand, quipped that he is simply “unpaid help.”

Anyway, during the time I spent hovering around the CDJS stand, the joint was hopping, and almost all of the patrons had the same query. At least 10 times, I heard, “So, seriously. What is in the Stupid Hot?”

For his part, Barron replied with a mischievous gleam, “Stupid, of course.”

Whether he was being truthful remains unclear, but the USDA may want to investigate his claim, because the mysterious composition of the Stupid Hot salsa rendered many people speechless (I may be exaggerating slightly). When they finally regained their ability to talk, these were some of the initial reactions that I heard:

“HOT! HOT! HOT!”

“Honey, are you allright?”

“It hurts, but … yeah.”

“It’s actually kinda hot.”

The speaker of the last quote may be partially immune to pain, but definitely not to pleasure. The next sentence out of his mouth was, “It’s really good!”

For another tentative taste-tester, Michael Flood Jr., the Stupid Hot salsa inflamed both his passions and his stomach. Upon trying the peppery inferno, he said, after much gasping, “It’s especially hot. It’s actually burning my insides.” He, too, survived his initial incapacitation, and he was glad to have had the experience.

Michael attended Musikfest with his father, Michael Flood. According to the elder Flood, “My older son had raved about coming [to Musikfest] for years … I’m finally here, and I’m pleasantly surprised!”

Meanwhile, Patrick Barron was busily refilling bowls with tortilla chips so passersby could continue to sample the delicious salsas, which range in intensity from a mild peach salsa to the Stupid Hot, which apparently cannot be judged by the same standard as typical salsas.

“On a scale from 1 to 10, it’s an 11,” Barron said.

Barron’s personal favorite, though, is the pineapple habañero, because “you taste the pineapple, and then BOOM!”

Barron says he enjoys helping Gilreath to make and label the salsas, as well as “being pleasant and interactive” with the customers at the stand. When Barron is not behind the counter at the CDJS stand, which is nestled between the Tannery and Monocracy Creek, Barron enthusiastically explores Musikfest, soaking up the sights and sounds.

He has only missed one day since 2004, and in 2013 he was there for literally every minute. In his opinion, the great weather this year has distinguished Musikfest 2015 from that of other years.

“But when I’m out there [not selling salsa],” he said, “I don’t care if it’s pouring, because I’m still having fun.”

That isn’t to imply that he does not enjoy his station at CDJS. How could he not, really? He has a front-row seat to witness “some crazy reactions” when people brave the fiery salsas.

In general, the salsas were smashingly successful, and everybody walked away from the tent chattering excitedly. Many were still pondering what makes the Stupid Hot, well, stupid hot. None of them checked its label.

In case anyone is afire with curiosity, more information about CDJS can be found at http://www.casadejorgesalsa.com.

HINT: The ingredients of Musikfest’s hottest commodity are available at that online address, but in this particular instance, ignorance might be bliss.