Small Domino's Pizza How Many Slices

So there I was, at 11:47 PM on a Tuesday, staring into the abyss of my refrigerator. It contained half a jar of pickles, a sad block of cheddar, and what I’m pretty sure was a fossilized carrot. I needed pizza. Not just any pizza—I needed the cheap, greasy, glorious comfort of a small Domino’s. But then a dreaded question hit me: how many slices is that thing, anyway?

I mean, you order a “small” and you’re thinking, “Okay, this is for me, myself, and I.” But then the box arrives, and it’s either a perfect solo feast or a cruel joke that leaves you hungry and resentful. Let’s settle this once and for all, shall we? Grab a slice—or six—and let’s get into it.

The Official Slice Count (No Guessing)

Straight from the Domino’s playbook: a small Domino’s pizza is 10 inches in diameter. That’s it. And that 10-inch circle is always, always cut into six slices. Not eight, not four. Six. Yes, you read that right—a small is not a personal pan. It’s a tiny pie with the audacity to serve a whole half-dozen slices.

Now, here’s where it gets tricky. Those six slices are smaller than the slices from a medium or large, obviously. But they’re also heftier than the wafer-thin slices of a party-sized pizza. Think of them as the Goldilocks of pizza slices—just right for one hungry adult, or two people who claim they’re “not that hungry” but will absolutely finish the box.

But Wait—Is It Really Six Slices Every Time?

Yes. Unless you order online and specifically ask for it to be cut into squares (which, let’s be honest, is a power move reserved for Chicago deep-dish heretics). I’ve tested this at three different Domino’s locations, and I got six slices every single time. The only exception? If you order a “Small Brooklyn Style”—that’s a different beast. Brooklyn style is cut into four big, floppy slices, like a tiny New York homage. But for the classic hand-tossed or thin crust? Six slices. Period.

You might think, “Why not eight? Wouldn’t that make it shareable?” And you’re right—it would. But Domino’s knows that a small pizza is a declaration of personal space. Six slices means you can eat two, then three, then guiltily eat the last one while making eye contact with no one. It’s the math of solitude, my friend.

How Many People Does a Small Domino’s Feed?

Let’s get real: a small Domino’s feeds exactly one person who has zero shame. I’m talking about the kind of person who eats pizza for breakfast with a side of leftover pizza. If you’re sharing it with a friend, you’ll each get three slices—and then you’ll spend the next hour eyeing the last crust corner like a hawk.

Pro tip: If you’re ordering for two, do yourself a favor and buy two small pizzas. Why fight over a slice when you can each have your own pepperoni kingdom? Plus, you get to pick different toppings. It’s the romantic equivalent of “I love you, but I need pineapple on my side.”

But What About Calories? (Because You Asked)

Sure, let’s ruin the fun. A slice of a small hand-tossed pepperoni pizza is about 200-230 calories. So if you eat the whole thing (all six slices), you’re looking at roughly 1,200 to 1,400 calories. That’s a hefty dinner, but not a sin. Pair it with a salad and a gallon of water, and you’re basically a health influencer.

Ironically, the small pizza is often more dangerous than the medium, because you can eat the entire thing in one sitting without guilt. A medium has eight slices, which triggers a “share” instinct. A small has six slices, which triggers the “it’s basically a snack” instinct. You’ve been warned.

The Great Crust Debate

Now, here’s where the slice count gets philosophical. A small Domino’s pizza has a higher crust-to-center ratio than a large. Why? Because the crust ring is the same thickness (about an inch) whether the pizza is 10 inches or 14 inches. So on a small, crust makes up a bigger percentage of your pizza. You’re essentially paying for 35% crust—which is great if you’re a crust-first kinda person, and tragic if you’re a “leave the crusts for the dogs” type.

My advice? Order the hand-tossed crust, which is soft and pillowy, not the thin crust. Thin crust on a small pizza gives you a cracker-like experience that leaves you feeling like you’ve been tricked. And whatever you do, don’t order the “gluten-free” crust unless you enjoy eating what feels like a sad cardboard coaster.

Final Slice of Wisdom

So next time you’re about to order a small Domino’s, remember this: you’re getting six slices of pure, unapologetic solo indulgence. It’s not a meal for two, it’s a statement. A statement that says, “Yes, I am about to eat six pieces of pizza by myself, and I am at peace with that decision.”