My hometown breakfast diner

If I spend more than a few days in a new town, I start to poke around for a breakfast diner. It's a sort of greasy time bubble where everyone sets aside their differences to gorge on eggs and coffee.Eggs, coffee, bacon, pancakes. Notes to a song that we (and our physicians) know by heart. I take comfort in the knowledge that I can walk into almost any diner and order the same exact meal.However strange and unfamiliar a town might be, the diner is neutral territory where we all know the rules. Like an airport, but less degrading.My hometown spot is perched along Highway 101 in a beachside town in San Diego county. It's got the best chocolate chip pancakes I've ever had. I've since lived in Oregon and New York and I haven't found anything close.There's something about the reckless amount of chocolate chips and the sheer scale of syrup and butter that I'm entrusted with. It says that moderation is for Out There, where boring (and, even worse, flavorless) concepts like physics and…