My aunt and cousins lived in El Cajon in the same house for many years. The municipal boundary kept changing, so actually, part of that time they lived in La Mesa. (Five changes total, I think she told us).

I had the strangest breakfast on a road trip in Idaho Falls. We sat down at a breakfast place and I ordered what I usually do, French toast. This humongous plate with two three-inch thick chunks of some big fried thing arrived. "Our cook likes to do it a little different," the waitress beamed. I tried a bite, then ate something else. I think they should warn people when the recipe varies that much, know what I mean?