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A love letter to Manuel’s Tavern

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A love letter to Manuel’s Tavern
Manuel’s Tavern boasts a wonderland of memorabilia, which includes founder Manuel Maloof’s ashes in an urn beneath an FDR portrait. (Those aren’t even the bar’s only ashes.)

Photograph by Patrick Heagney

I moved to Atlanta straight out of college in 1999 for a job at CNN, and I remember the first time my coworkers took me to Manuel’s Tavern. With its vintage photographs of politicians and massive, dust-coated display of beer cans old enough to have pull tabs, it reminded me of the basement bars my uncles had in their homes outside Philadelphia.

Manuel Maloof, a staunch Democrat and lifelong community-builder, opened Manuel’s Tavern in 1956. Maloof, who also dabbled in politics, was elected to the DeKalb County Commission in 1974 and later served as county CEO. He fashioned the bar into something of a political watering hole, attracting everyone from reporters and students to cops and plumbers—and, of course, politicians. While on the campaign trail, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama all stopped by to shake hands and sip drinks at the bar.

During big political events, Manuel’s is one of the hottest spots in town. Customers fill tables inside and out to wait for election results and cheer or jeer at debates. There’s no music playing, ever—just a couple of muted TVs, usually set on CNN and some kind of sports. Maloof wanted his customers to talk to each other, be they friends, dates, bartenders, strangers.

It’s the only bar I’ve ever visited that has dedicated parking reserved for members of the clergy—“Seriously,” the sign reads—and one of the few that counts a cat among its most die-hard regulars. Archer technically lives in a house around the corner, but he’s been hanging out in the Manuel’s parking lot for enough years that he’s now featured on the
bar’s T-shirts.

I’ve lived within walking distance of Manuel’s for more than half my Atlanta life and have probably spent more time there than anywhere else in town where I wasn’t paying rent. Sunday hangover brunch? Biscuits and gravy at Manuel’s. Celebrating a promotion? Nachos at Manuel’s. International journalist colleagues in town? Let’s open a tab at Manuel’s.

I’ve been to surprise parties, retirement celebrations, goodbye gatherings, and even a wedding reception at Manuel’s. It’s the first place my husband and I think of when it’s time to raise a glass or grab some food. During the Covid-19 pandemic, we made Manuel’s takeout a regular part of our lockdown routine, and we showed up hours ahead of time to watch the final presidential debate of the 2020 election, mercifully mask-less, but seated six feet apart from our fellow debate watchers at tables that filled the parking lot, cheering and booing as we saw fit. I think Manny Maloof would have loved to see it.

Maloof died in 2004; his son Brian now runs his eponymous tavern. Brian (and before him, his brother Tommy, who passed away in 2001) has shepherded the place through decades of high and lows, but the pandemic almost forced Manuel’s to shutter forever. Instead, the community stepped in: Word spread of the bar’s troubles, and a friend launched a GoFundMe, hoping to raise $75,000. It ultimately collected $187,000—saving one of Atlanta’s most cherished watering holes and a place I consider my second home.

Thank you for everything, Manuel’s. I’ll swing by for a veggie burger and a Tropicalia soon. Just save me a seat at the bar.

This article appears in our August 2026 issue.

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