Open every day that ends in “y,” for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the Paramount has been around since 1937, yet there will still be a line out the door this weekend—with folks waiting however long it takes for giant malted Belgian waffles and pulpy, freshly squeezed orange juice. By night, candles flicker on the tables, and the Beacon Hillers who flock in face the hardest decision they’ll have to make all day: choosing between those prized tenderloin tips and the evening’s special. Good thing they can come back tomorrow.