The Drover’s thing is the whiskey marinade. Since 1977, its steaks have been aged in a whiskey-based marinade that gives the meat a distinctive depth you won’t find anywhere else. It’s the kind of signature that sounds like a gimmick until you taste it — then you understand why people have been coming for nearly fifty years.
The room is pure old Omaha steakhouse: dark, clubby, unhurried. The salad bar is generous, the baked potatoes are enormous, and the whole experience feels preserved in amber in the best possible way. This is where Omaha takes its parents.
It’s at 73rd and Pacific, out west. Order the whiskey-marinated top sirloin, get the salad bar, and don’t rush. The Drover rewards the unhurried.