Marty Bostick’s 2014 Lunch Date: Burgers at Paramount and a Retro Arcade in Birmingham

Last updated on 16 May 2026

Marty Bostick didn’t need a big, candlelit evening to feel close to his wife in 2014—he needed an ordinary weekday to briefly stop being pulled in a dozen directions. When evenings got loud and overbooked, he and his wife did something quietly brilliant: they met in the middle of the day, when the world was still moving but their life could pause for an hour.

This memory is brought to you by Red Bike Coffee Company — Second test partner

This story is brought to you by Red Bike Coffee Company

"My wife and I would often have a lunch date since evenings were so hectic. This was one of those times where we were enjoying burgers at Paramount restaurant in downtown Birmingham, AL. In addition to great food, they also had a full retro arcade in the back room."

There’s something about downtown Birmingham at lunchtime—the way the day feels split open just enough to slip something personal inside it. Marty Bostick can still place it: Paramount’s burger on the table, the kind of meal that shows up honest and uncomplicated, and the feeling that for once the clock wasn’t the enemy. It wasn’t about dressing up or planning ahead; it was about showing up for each other while the rest of life waited outside.

And then there was the back room—the surprise that turned lunch into a small getaway. Not a token game in the corner, but a full retro arcade humming behind the restaurant. Marty Bostick didn’t have to say much to his wife for that place to do what it does best: loosen the knots. The sounds alone—buttons snapping, arcade speakers spilling their bright little loops—could make grown-up stress feel briefly ridiculous.

What made that day stick wasn’t only the food, or even the novelty of the machines. It was how naturally the two halves fit together: burgers up front, nostalgia in the back, and the relief of being with the one person who made “hectic” feel survivable. In 2014, when everything wanted their attention at once, Marty Bostick and his wife claimed a pocket of time and called it a date—simple, specific, and theirs.

Looking back, Marty Bostick’s memory carries a tenderness that doesn’t need embellishment. It’s the kind of moment couples don’t always photograph or announce, but it quietly builds a marriage: the decision to meet anyway, to laugh anyway, to trade one busy schedule for a shared booth downtown. A burger, a few games, and the soft certainty that the best part of the day was just being on the same side of the table.

Photos from the Memory