This past summer, I joined Joey and his ragtag Friday crew at a warehouse in Prospect, OR where we produced hundreds of bottles of Joey’s Hot Sauce in eight hours of intense work. From washing chillies all the way to boxing the bottles, I got to see how their hot sauce gets made. Having grown up in Southern California, hot sauce was a constant found in diners, home refrigerators, and salsa bars. However, it wasn’t until I was standing in an industrial kitchen, my face stinging from the spicy air, that I wondered about its extreme prevalence in US culture. Sure big-brand names like Tabasco, Cholula, and Sriracha are not surprising to find throughout the US, but the long line of tiny artisanal hot sauce bottles offered at my local grocery store in rural Ohio is. Surprised by this finding, I decided to look further into this love for spice in the US. To search for answers, I found myself going back to the sauce-making process, retelling the steps in order to reveal the secrets behind this popular condiment.
Digital illustration of a Habanero pepper, Bell pepper, Cherry Bomb pepper, and Poblano pepper–the peppers used in Joey’s Hot Sauce.
Scrubbing The Pepper out of Chilli Peppers
First, I was assigned to wash the chillies. I carried giant cardboard boxes into the kitchen each labeled with the chillies held within:
- Bell peppers
- Poblano peppers
- Cherry bomb peppers
- Habanero peppers
After I filled the giant industrial sinks full of cool water, I dumped the chillies in by batch. I swiftly moved around the red, green, and orange scrubbing each one to get any remaining dust or debris off that may have been leftover from its journey to the warehouse. Then I swooped a giant colander underneath the floating mass, lifted up, and drained the chillies before dumping them in a clean bin where they would be taken away to be deseeded.
The chillies I was working with were trucked over from a nearby location, but they were certainly not a native species to Oregon or even the US for that matter. Chillies, part of the nightshade family, are berries native to Central and South America, first being cultivated by native people in Mesoamerica. Chillies have played a central role in world cuisine, taking over Africa, Asia, and eventually Europe and the US. The fruit first arrived in Europe after Columbus thought he had found a different version of black pepper–just one that looked and tasted very different. This inaccuracy is why, still today, many of the brightly colored capsicums found in markets, menus, and recipes are referred to as peppers.1
Despite Columbus’ obsession, many European countries initially had no interest in the fruit. However, through Portuguese trade ports, chillies made their way to parts of Africa and Asia where they quickly took off. So fast in fact that, at the time, “…in Asia and Africa, everyone assumed it was a native ingredient.”2 While the Aztecs and Mayans had long been chomping on the spicy fruits and mashing them into sauces, early creations such as Harissa and Sambar made their way into dishes. The spread to Europe was much slower, and unlike chillies, the burn was less intense. While spices in Europe oftentimes signaled high-class status, the chili was, at first, looked down upon. However, the use of crushed paprika and the British culinary turn to sauces in the 1800s began to change its standing in the kitchen. As for the chillies’ journey to and origins in the US, the use of chillies in cooking was largely driven by enslaved people from Africa who had carried the fruits with them to the US. Many Indigenous cuisines also used chilies which likely had made their way up from Mexico through trade years earlier.3
While hot sauce is now a US commodity people rely on, this surge in popularity is relatively recent. Denver Nicks, in Hot Sauce Nation: America’s Burning Obsession, accords this influx in popularity to the Immigration act of 1965 that allowed higher numbers of immigrants, especially from East Asia and Mexico, to move to the US. Immigrants are integral to the cultural make-up of US life, and one of their influences is certainly in shaping US cuisine. With this increase in immigration rates in the 60s that still continues today, it is not surprising to see how this crave for spice has made its way into mainstream US taste preferences.
Digital illustration of Habanero pepper sliced in half, showing the seeds inside.
Science in the Spice
After washing, I went to help with the de-seeding process. Yielding sharp knives we chopped off the peppers’ tops. We then took our nifty metal spoons, designed for this very purpose, and scraped out the seeds. We skipped this process for the more benign chillies, like the bell peppers, but it was an important step for the spicier berries. Here I received a warning about the chillies’ juices: if you spray any juice on your skin you want to rinse it off, otherwise it will start to burn.
What I was really being warned about here is the capsaicin molecule C₁₈H₂₈O₃N. This is (scientifically) what gives chili its kick. This compound made up of common elements, Carbon, Hydrogen, Oxygen, and Nitrogen, is produced when the plant is stressed. Capsaicin, in a way, is the “chemical version of thorns, spines and stinging hairs” created in an attempt to ward off predators.4 This means that stressful growing conditions, like drier soils, produce a spicier chili. While we were warned of the “spicy juices,” many people often warn about the seeds. Both of these, in their own way, are correct as the capsaicin is most concentrated in the white pithy part of the fruit where the oily coated seeds tend to congregate.
Humans, intrigued by this molecule, did what they do with many things they’re researching–they created a measurement. When you read things like mild, spicy, or extra hot on a hot sauce label, it may be based off of the Scoville Heat Units or SHU number which is used to categorize the level of spice in chili. SHU can range from 0 (Bell pepper) to up into the 300,000s (Habaneros) and represents the number of drops of sugar-water solution required to dilute chili heat to an undetectable level.5 This “undetectable” level is based on the human taste which allows for variability and some bias, which is why the old-school SHU has been replaced by some newer methods. Whether these measurements are accurate or not, however, doesn’t take away from the meaning behind it–human desire to quantify the painful sensation in numerical terms just so we can better understand it.
Digital illustration of bell peppers laying on a baking sheet ready to roast in the oven.
You Just Got Roasted: With Hobart Duty
The pepper bodies, now seed-free, were laid out onto large baking sheets. Then, slid into giant convection ovens, the chillies roasted at high temperatures for around 10 minutes. There, the skins charred and softened. At this time I was asked to head to the back of the kitchen to start on Hobart duty. The Hobart is a giant industrial dishwasher that blasts dishes clean with water (and chemicals) at high temperatures of around 160º F. In other words, it’s a spicy disaster, spraying capsaicin molecules in every which way around you. Because of this risk, I was given a heavy duty respirator mask. Working maskless (as a newbie like me) would spur a semi-uncontrollable coughing fit, whereas, being masked, only meant the occasional cough here and there in reaction to the spicy air.
This physical reaction to capsaicin happens for a reason. As previously mentioned, capsaicin is produced as a defense for chili plants. It is meant to ward off predators including mammals whose teeth can crush the chillies’ seeds and prevent its reproduction. In other words, humans aren’t really meant to eat them. The plants, prior to human consumption and cultivation, actually likely evolved from attracting birds who could handle the heat and were able to disperse the seeds from the other end. The spice deterred most mammals, that is until humans came along. We weird little animals were somehow attracted to the pain that these berries brought. Chillies deliver a burning sensation to the brain and body, tricking it into feeling pain. When you are experiencing spice, your brain is feeling and signaling a similar sensation as if your tongue were physically on fire–wild.6 This pain can be intense and has even been weaponized. Pepper spray is sometimes used by police and chili smoke was once used to suffocate or derail assailants in war.7 Used in combat, the burn is deliberate and purposeful.
When it comes to eating, this pain can be deliberate as well. Over my spring break I road tripped south from Ohio down to North Carolina. While the initial intention of the trip was to see the mountains, I couldn’t help but find myself getting sidetracked by chillies. One day, I randomly happened upon an entire store dedicated to hot sauce in Asheville, NC. I felt as though the hot sauce gods had plopped it right there for me to find. Inside, I was met with rows of hot sauce of all different varieties and spice levels. Alongside the bottles were tiny plastic spoons for tasting. The most shocking part was the labels and names on the bottles: Mr. Pain, Scorpion Death Stalker, Smokin’ Reaper, or my favorite–Gator Swamp Gas. It was as if the store was daring you to try their sauce, like the little spoons were chanting “do it, do it” in a way that they hoped to watch you squirm at the tinge of pain left on your tongue.
I leave out the name of the store because, in all honesty, I thought the sauces were quite gross. They tasted like candy, so sweet and sugary, and were nothing I would want to put on my tacos. However, I did find extreme entertainment in how they were advertised. The store, in a way, wasn’t selling the sauce itself as much as it was selling you a dare to eat the spiciest sauce you could handle. Looking at my tiny spoon, I wondered why this dare was so effective.
My initial thought was that there ought to be both an individual and social aspect to this desire for burn–a desire to prove something to yourself as well as those watching. I was the only one in the store, besides the cashier, so I did not feel much of this social pressure; however, I certainly felt an individual push to try just the tiniest squirt of sauce labeled EXTREME. As for social pressure, the popular YouTube series “Hot Ones,” reveals something about this type of spotlight by videotaping celebrities as they try to eat the spiciest wings while answering questions from a host. This entertainment is also what likely encouraged my older sister to (somewhat stupidly) make a video documenting her and her friend’s journey through eating a ghost pepper. Said video followed them first squirming in pain and then eventually throwing up from its intensity, all within a 12:32 recording uploaded on YouTube. There are likely a myriad of factors that go into this desire to compete, entertain and test yourself with spice, and one of them is certainly the way these sauces are advertised. As James Gorman puts it, only the special mix of capitalism and “…American marketing could come up with a product that is marketed on the basis that you won’t be able to use it.”8
Digital illustration of a big stock pot, representative of the large vat used to cook Joey’s Hot Sauce.
A Bubbly Brew of Healing Potion
Next came the mushing of the peppers which was completed in rounds of blending. The puree of red, green, and orange, now a muted orange-poopy brown, was poured into what I only know how to describe as a giant vat. Here the mixture is stewed and steamed for some time. Spices were sprinkled in, but very few. Most importantly there was NO SUGAR added. The hot sauce was underway.
On Joey’s website, a video helps advertise the story behind his sauce–it’s cute, it’s tender, it’s all about his motivation: “the love of [his] life, Lisa!” He created the hot sauce after his wife, Lisa, complained about the typical added sugars in sauces. So, Joey set forth to craft his own artisanal hot sauce that was natural, sugar-free, and healthy. Health is at the center of much of Joey’s Hot Sauce campaign. It’s a sauce that you want to eat daily and one that energizes you to complete all your healthy exercises as shown in the video–working out, doing yoga, and jumping rope. This claim to health may just be a marketing strategy aimed at the many white, upper-class sports bros and health-minded vegans that I saw when I visited Joey’s stand at the Farmers Market. However, there is definitely something to the health behind capsicum consumption.
The Mayans used chillies to treat sore throats, coughs, and asthma. Aztecs made chili eye drops to cure eye infections and used the fruit to ease the pains of childbirth. Chillies have also been claimed to be cures for forgetfulness, hemorrhoids, paralysis, toothaches, and flatulence. While chillies have not made their way into modern western medicine, their cultural presence and backings are there. The idea of the chili as healing is interesting in regards to its painful taste, but it scientifically makes sense. It can be applied topically to overload and blind pain receptors, which provides a soothing and pain-easing effect.9 And, psychologically, the short-spurt of pain, followed by a rush of endorphins rewarding the body answers, in part, why our brains tell us to go back for more.10
Digital illustration of Joey’s Hot Sauce logo that decorates his hot sauce bottles.
What’s in a label?
Finally, I was sent to work on labels. This was the part I was looking forward to most–who doesn’t love stickers? We labeled both 5 oz and 16 oz bottles. The smaller ones had their very own fancy labeling machine to help perfect the look. Laying in the machine’s caring, metal arms, you simply spun the bottle and the attached label slid onto the glass. Sounds easy enough. Well, not quite. If you went too fast the next label would stick and you’d have a double-label mess eliciting a restart and redo. Over at the 16 oz station, we got more intimate. There, we hand peeled labels and then, as evenly as possible, placed them onto each bottle. The bottle sloped with a long narrow neck and slanting bottom which made it so little air bubbles were almost impossible to avoid making for a frustrating process. I thought of the vibrantly colored hot sauce labels that lined the aisles at supermarkets. I’m sure most had a nifty machine, likely an even niftier machine than ours, to do this work. This process highlighted the hand-craft, artisanal make-up of Joey’s Hot Sauce mainly because, heck, it was really done just with our own collective hands!
Joey’s labels display a cartoon version of his own face overlaying a background of flames above sauce names like Priscilla the Creeper and Lisa the Truffle Queen. His spiciest sauce, Hella Raiser, shows his face but with steam spewing out either ear showing just how hot his ghost pepper sauce really is. While Joey’s labels aren’t quite as out-there as the ones in Asheville’s hot sauce store, they still contain similar themes. The focus is on the intense heat and retains a certain masculine nature. It may be a little less daredevil, but still has elements of a “no pain, no gain” kind of message. This rather aggro marketing honestly turned me off a bit. I thought about domestic kitchens in other countries where women worked closely with spicy chilies everyday, this gendered marketing felt out of touch. Back in Joey’s kitchen, on that specific Friday afternoon, the staff was made up of primarily young people–at least half of whom were women, queer, and/or immigrants. While I still feel resistant to these male-marketing strategies, I couldn’t help but come to understand it in a small, weird way. We all had our own reasons for being there, but there seemed to be a shared energy for the work at hand. The spicy air mixed with singing and sweat as we worked side-by-side to a song-requested Spotify queue blasting in the back. A certain camaraderie was built from shared glances through glassy eyes and sudden cough attacks from plumes of spice. Somewhat naïvely, I hadn’t expected the hot sauce making process to be quite as painful as it was. It seemed just as painful as the taste. Yet there was something exhilarating about working with an ingredient that hurt so bad. This unexpected element of pain in the process made the completion of the job that much more rewarding–we had won a chili eating competition of our own sorts.
Digital illustration of a plastic seal slip, a bottle of Joey’s Hot Sauce, a plastic screw-on cap, and a clear plastic tab. The parts that make up a finished bottle of Joey’s Hot Sauce.
The End of the Assembly Line
The heat and energy built off of each other, so that by the time it got to bottling the room was buzzing with a heightened level of excitement. First, Joey filled the bottles. Next someone snapped the little plastic tab into place. After the plastic, a person tightly screwed on the cap of the bottle before handing it to me. I slipped a plastic tab over the cap and neck and slid the bottles down the table. There, someone dunked the bottles into a boiling pot of water before removing them with tongs. Finally, someone wiped the excess water to reveal the final product–all sealed, pretty, and ready for purchase.
Endnotes
1. Denver Nicks, Hot Sauce Nation: America’s Burning Obsession (Chicago, IL: Chicago Review Press, Incorporated, 2017), 10.
2. Heather Arndt Anderson, Chillies – a Global History (Reaktion Books, 2016), 46.
3. Denver Nicks, Hot Sauce Nation: America’s Burning Obsession (Chicago, IL: Chicago Review Press, Incorporated, 2017).
4. Heather Arndt Anderson, Chillies – a Global History (Reaktion Books, 2016), 40.
5. Heather Arndt Anderson, Chillies – a Global History (Reaktion Books, 2016), 16.
6. James Gorman, “A Perk of Our Evolution: Pleasure in Pain of Chilies,” The New York Times (The New York Times, September 20, 2010), https://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/21/science/21peppers.html.
7. Heather Arndt Anderson, Chillies – a Global History (Reaktion Books, 2016), 33.
8. James Gorman, “A Perk of Our Evolution: Pleasure in Pain of Chilies,” The New York Times (The New York Times, September 20, 2010), https://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/21/science/21peppers.html.
9. Heather Arndt Anderson, Chillies – a Global History (Reaktion Books, 2016), 89.
10. Rax King, “Hot Sauce Marketing Is so Aggro, but the Community behind It Is Surprisingly Sweet,” Food & Wine (Food & Wine, May 21, 2021), https://www.foodandwine.com/condiments/hot-sauce/hot-sauce-marketing-is-so-aggro.
References
Anderson, Heather A. 2016. Chillies: A Global History. London: Reaktion Books Ltd.
Arellano, Gustavo. 2012. Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America. New York: Scribner.
Gorman, James. 2010. “A Perk of Our Evolution: Pleasure in Pain of Chilies.” The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/21/science/21peppers.html.
King, Rax. 2021. “Hot Sauce Marketing Is So Aggro, But the Community Behind It Is Surprisingly Sweet.” Food & Wine. https://www.foodandwine.com/condiments/hot-sauce/hot-sauce-marketing-is-so-aggro.
Miller, Adrian. 2103. Soul Food: The Surprising Story of an American Cuisine One Plate at a Time. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press.
Nicks, Denver. 2016. Hot Sauce Nation: America’s Burning Obsession. N.p.: Chicago Review Press, Incorporated.
Repice, Joey. n.d. “Joey’s Hot Sauce.” Joey’s Hot Sauce. Accessed April 13, 2023. https://www.joeyshotsauce.com/.
Tebben, Maryann. 2014. Sauces A Global History. London: Reaktion Books Ltd.
Brooke Levan is a second year student at Oberlin College studying as an Environmental Studies Major with a Food Studies Concentration and Studio Art minor. She enjoys all things food related–cooking for her student-run dining cooperative, growing foods in her backyard in San Diego, and finding fun eateries when she travels.
