Some borough presidents are known - if they are known at all - for sucking up to voters.
 Staten Island Borough President James Molinaro is known for socking it to them.

While other borough presidents are working the smoke-filled rooms, Molinaro in usually found
 in his basement brewing up an excruciatingly spicy, nearly flammable hot-pepper sauce of
 his own invention.

The beep takes hot peppers, dries them on his hot-water heater (nice touch), crushes them
 and mixes them with oil, black olives and enough garlic to make Staten Island vampire-free
 for a decade.

It's a sauce so overpowering that it can induce tears just from being in the same room as an
 open container. Yet everyone who visits Molinaro is expected to sample some (he's such a
 generous guy, that Molinaro).

"I warn people, but not everyone listens," said Meagan Devereaux, the beep's special
 assistant. "It's like an active volcano. It actually hisses. And sometimes, it explodes!"

"It does not explode," Molinaro said. "Hisses, maybe, but not explode."

The sauce is something of a litmus test in Molinaro's office. Some staffers, like counsel Ed
 Burke or press officer Pat Witt, move their chairs away from the bubbling "Beep's Brew."
 Devereaux actually leaves the room. 

When told that I'd been given a sample of the hot sauce, she asked matter-of-factly, "Did it
 eat through the container yet?"

In the interest of journalistic inquiry, this reporter slathered a prosciutto-and-provalone
 sandwich with Molinaro's special sauce. I found it remarkable - rich, flavorful and
 well-rounded. Other than his courageous battle against overdevelopment, this sauce could be
 Jim Molinaro's lasting legacy to the people of Staten Island. It was exquisitely hot,
 that's for sure, but it's not as if I died in mid-sen

To better ascertain whether Molinaro had created a lethal substance or a legitimate
 condiment worthy of a fancy gourmet shop, I took a sample to my favorite Midtown restaurant
 for further testing (in doing so, I broke several laws against transporting toxic
 substances across county lines).

Waldy Malouf, the chef at Beacon on W. 56th Street, stuck his nose into the container and
 started crying - but they appeared to be tears of joy.

"It has a great aroma," he said. "And the olives are a nice tough. It gives him a salty
 countertaste to all the spice."

Malouf slathered "Molinaro Mush" onto a piece of monkfish and a lamb chop, and tossed both
 into his 700-degree wood-burning oven.

While the meat cooked, Malouf whipped up his outstanding bacon-scallion risotto. A mere
 half-teaspoon of Molinaro's sauce turned the rich, satisfying and creamy dish into a
 conflagration. In the good way.

"It really cuts through and makes a nice heat," Malouf said. He was equally impressed when
 the other dishes were done. "And you're telling me that the borough president of Staten
 Island makes this?"

As much as he admired the sauce, Malouf questioned whether Molinaro should devote himself
 full-time to hot sauce once those pesky term limits kick in.

"It's a great sauce, but selling products like this is next to impossible," Malouf said. "As
 far as his retirement goes, I'd advise him to have a plan B."

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gersh.kuntzman@verizon.net