NYC Pizza Rats Open Their Own Restaurant

Slice empire

According to reports, the infamous pizza-carrying rats of NYC have leveled up: they’ve opened their own restaurant. “Slice & Squeak” operates out of a Midtown basement and boasts “authentic floor-to-mouth cuisine.” Health inspectors are horrified, but the place has a waitlist longer than Carbone’s.

Menu items include “Pepperoni by the Paw,” “Cheese Under the Tracks,” and the chef’s specialty: “Half-Eaten Sicilian.” Diners sit on overturned trash cans while rats scurry around, taking orders via squeaks. “It’s the most New York dining experience ever,” said one patron. “I got rabies and a great Instagram pic.”

Tourists are divided. “The pizza’s amazing,” said a visitor from California. “But something brushed against my ankle and stole my breadstick.” Michelin critics reportedly considered awarding the rats one star “for persistence.”

TikTok’s #PizzaRatRestaurant trend shows influencers screaming while a rat delivers a slice bigger than itself. A viral video captured a customer tipping a rat with a chunk of cheddar instead of cash.

Tabloids gnawed at it. “SLICE & SQUEAK” screamed the Post. The Daily News countered: “PIZZA WITH CLAWS.”

Mayor Adams praised it as “small-business growth.” Governor Hochul muttered, “If a rat serves me anchovies, I’m moving to Jersey.”

SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/nyc-pizza-rats-open-their-own-restaurant/

SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/nyc-pizza-rats-open-their-own-restaurant/.

By: Annika Steinmann.

Annika Steinmann, journalist at bohiney.com -- NYC Pizza Rats Open Their Own Restaurant
Annika Steinmann, journalist.

By Annika Steinmann (News)

Annika Steinmann ([email protected]) - Upper West Side satirist and former stand-up comic who traded hecklers for headlines. German-born New Yorker who brings ruthless European efficiency to mocking American excess. Covers Manhattan's cultural pretensions, museum politics, and the eternal question: why does everything cost $18? Her comedy background means she knows exactly where the punchline belongs—usually somewhere between Columbus Circle and your wallet. Three years documenting NYC's decline into a theme park for the wealthy.

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