Pass The Gas, Please

I'm craving one of my favorite southern meals: meatloaf, stewed potatoes, pinto beans, and cornbread. It's what's on the menu tonight. I'm even considering jacking this up a notch by adding broccoli and cheddar to the cornbread. The only thing missing at the moment would be fresh sliced tomato, but I'm too much of a tomato snob to enjoy one from the local big box market. But soon, very soon they'll be coming into season and I'll be able to hit my local produce stand up for one of those juicy Better Boys or Big Berthas.
Most likely this is a mundane topic for some of my dearly devoted. Those of you who know me though, know of my love for all things food. Factor in the pregnancy and you'll find that food occupies a good 78% of my thinking. So it was of no surprise when this menu came to me in a dream early this morning. I woke slobbering and smacking with anticipation for the deliciousness that awaited me.
As I was soaking and rinsing my beans it occurred to me, however, that this meal was going to hurt me. Between the heartburn and the gas, there's no doubt in my mind I will be rolling on the floor miserable a good half hour after consumption. Ordinarily this meal might sting for a brief time, but I would soldier on. I'd forgotten to consider my on board companion might not enjoy the in flight meal as much as myself. Well, little girl, you best buckle up. You're about to experience some slight turbulence. Mama needs her comfort food.