My night searching for Lindsey Graham
Di Vino Rosso is one of the few political watering holes in Columbia, South Carolina. It’s popular in its own right thanks to a Michelin recommendation last year and the kinds of bartenders who convince you they’re pouring drinks out of friendship, not economic necessity. It’s frequented by state senators, congressional staffers of the 2nd and 6th districts, and their benefactors. It’s where you take a cohort of soon to depart home-office interns to feel special. It has Instagram-forward warm lighting; it feels like you’re n 1 drinks deep as you cross the threshold. It’s nominally Italian and devoid of Italians.
In April, before the primary, before his death, an acquaintance in one of the nearby congressional district offices told me that Lindsey Graham was in town during a recess and would be dining at Di Vino that Saturday. I called to reserve two bar seats with the intent of staking out the Senator. It’s imperative in life to have friends who are reliably in collared shirts and looking for an excuse to drop $200 on short notice. My buddy Benton from the Army was there about an hour and a half later, clad in Rhoback.
Columbia is like most state capitals in that it’s second rate. It’s called the armpit of the state by anyone who didn’t graduate from UofSC (USC being a litigated trademark by a school in California). The term........
