Is Clermont, FL Worth Visiting? Hills, Lakes & More

The Short Answer

Yes, if you like elevation, history with a bitter citrus aftertaste, and a lakefront that doesn’t pretend to be something it isn’t. Clermont sits on the highest ground in peninsular Florida, which means the views cost you something—legs, lungs, or a few extra minutes of driving. The groves that built the place are mostly gone, killed by freezes and replaced by rooftops. What remains is a town that knows exactly what it lost and built a park system over the grief.

Why the Hills Matter

The Florida Citrus Tower, built in 1956, still stands over a landscape whose groves have largely gone—one of Florida’s earliest roadside landmarks outliving the industry it was built to celebrate. You can see it from the highway, but you should walk up to it. The tower is a monument to a crop that no longer pays the bills, and that’s a rare thing in Florida: a tourist attraction that admits its own obsolescence.

Clermont was established in 1884, incorporated as a town on 9 June 1891, disbanded on 25 May 1895, and reincorporated as a city on 28 December 1916. The name comes from the French hometown of A.F. Wrotnowski, who managed the Clermont Improvement Company. That’s the kind of pedigree that usually means a museum and a gift shop. Instead, you get hills.

What to Actually Do

Waterfront Park on Lake Minneola is the center of gravity. Swimming, fishing piers, a playground—nothing fancy, but the lake is clean and the sunsets are the kind that make you forget the 5.9 percent unemployment rate for a few minutes. The park also hosts Pig on the Pond, three days at Waterfront Park and the biggest event in south Lake County, drawing more than 20,000 people. Run by Project Scholars, a non-profit, the 2026 edition was the 27th. If you’re in town that weekend, you’re not deciding whether to go—you’re deciding how early to arrive.

For a different kind of citrus history, Showcase of Citrus on Frank Jarrell Rd is a working operation that leans into the agritourism angle. Rated 4.5 from 4882 reviews, it’s a place to see what the county used to be before the freezes and the subdivisions. You can take a tram ride through the groves, and if you’ve never seen a kumquat tree, this is your chance.

Where to Eat Without Regret

The highway 27 corridor is a gauntlet of national chains, and Clermont has them all. But the ratings tell a story: IHOP at 4.7 from 7616 reviews, Pepe's Cantina Clermont at 4.7 from 4978 reviews, and Keke's Breakfast Cafe at 4.7 from 3848 reviews are the top of the pile. Outback Steakhouse and Miller's Ale House both sit at 4.6, which is respectable for a chain.

If you want something that doesn’t feel like every other exit in Florida, The Crooked Spoon on Citrus Tower Blvd is rated 4.4 from 2786 reviews and is the closest thing to a local independent you’ll find on the list. Sr. Tequila Mexican Grill in the Cagan Crossings area is another option, rated 4.1 from 2870 reviews.

The Numbers Behind the Town

Clermont’s population is 44,984 people, with a median age of 42.4 years. That’s older than the state average, and it shows in the pace of life. The median household income is $79,789, which is decent for Lake County, and the median home value is $368,600—not cheap, but not Miami either. The median gross rent is $1,774, and 35.7 percent of residents hold a bachelor’s degree or higher.

Here’s the kicker: of 18,718 total housing units, 1,800 are vacant, and only 558 are held for seasonal or recreational use. That means the empty houses aren’t snowbirds—they’re just empty. The town adopted the slogan “Choice of Champions” in 2014, on the strength of the National Training Center established there in 2001. That’s a nice bit of branding, but the vacancy rate suggests the champions aren’t all moving in.

The Verdict

Clermont is worth visiting for a day, maybe two if you like hills and history. It’s not a destination resort, and it doesn’t pretend to be. The groves are gone, the tower is a relic, and the chain restaurants dominate the main drag. But the lake is real, the hills are real, and the town’s willingness to keep the Citrus Tower standing—rather than tearing it down for another storage unit—says something about its character.

If you’re driving between Orlando and the Gulf Coast, take the 27 exit. Walk the park, look at the tower, eat at Pepe's or The Crooked Spoon, and get back on the road. You’ll have seen the Florida that used to be, and the Florida that took its place. That’s worth the detour.