Jenny S.
Yelp
Who knew a three-year-old gift card could spark such a culinary adventure? Buried deep in our pockets (or memory), this little gem finally saw the light of day on Friday night as we headed to Omaha's iconic steakhouse, The Drover. Spoiler: It was a mixed bag of salad bars, whiskey filets, and a side of "meh."
We arrived a few minutes before our 5:30 reservation, hoping for a smooth start. Parking? No problem. Getting seated? A whole different story. We stood awkwardly at the bar entrance, exchanging glances with other hungry parties as the host mysteriously disappeared. My 75-year-old dad nearly launched a one-man search party before the host reappeared and ushered us into a cozy little alcove. Cozy turned out to mean "crammed with wine-fueled conversations so loud we could barely hear each other," but hey, it's all part of the charm, right?
Our server appeared to share the specials and promptly disappeared, leaving the cocktail server to take drink orders. Diet Coke for me (yes, it's a Coke establishment, for those tracking soda politics), but after that, hydration became a DIY affair. Water refills? Yes. Soda refills? A hard no. My glass sat empty most of the meal while the martini-table folks seemed to have unlimited service.
The famed salad bar called, so we went to check it out. Chilled metal plates? Check. Crisp iceberg lettuce? Check. But then... oh no. Mushy, frozen cucumbers. Why, Drover, why? Other toppings hit the mark, and the poppyseed dressing was liquid gold, so all wasn't lost.
A warm loaf of bread arrived, and we inhaled it. Sadly, that was our only loaf. Meanwhile, the martini table got refills like Oprah handing out cars. You get bread! You get bread! Us? Not so much.
When the entrees arrived, things looked promising. My whiskey filet (butterflied, with sautéed mushrooms) was flawless--so tender it practically cut itself. The mushrooms had a surprising little kick that kept things interesting, though there were too many for me to finish.
My husband's T-bone and onion rings hit all the right notes, but my dad's prime rib? Let's just say it wasn't winning any awards. Served medium rare, it was cold, and without the au jus, it would've been downright unappetizing. He wasn't thrilled with the meat but raved about his baked potato, calling it the best he's had in years. Small victories, I guess!
Oh, and remember those little spiced apple garnishes they used to include? Gone. I missed them, just for nostalgia, but because my late grandpa would've eaten every single one, parsley and all.
The quickest part of our night was the bill. Our total before the $100 gift card came to about $200, leaving $99 to pay out of pocket. Not terrible for three steak dinners at a classic spot. But was it worth it?
Usually, I leave The Drover impressed, but this time, it felt like an off-night. Maybe it was the cold prime rib, the sad cucumbers, or the hit-or-miss service. Regardless, The Drover remains an Omaha institution, and I know it'll continue to draw its loyal crowd. As for me? I'll be back--eventually. I'm just not racing to beat you there.