For Milan Bhayana (C ‘28), cooking isn't just about fueling the body—it's about feeding the soul, the mind, and maybe, if you’re lucky, a bit of your curiosity about the world. While most Penn students reluctantly rely on almost raw Commons chicken or McClelland bowls, food is more than just fuel for Milan—it’s a language, a conversation between self, culture, and history.
With 907,000 followers on TikTok, @lilchefmil showcases all of his culinary whims from macaroons to wagyu steak. But Milan’s culinary journey didn’t begin with a dream of Michelin stars. It began out of necessity.
Growing up in the suburbs of Washington D.C., Milan was constantly navigating a minefield of food allergies, including eggs, dairy, and shellfish. Dining out was less a treat and more an exercise in anxiety. So, he took matters into his own hands.
“It’s so much easier to make it myself than go somewhere and ask 30 questions before I can even order,” Milan explains. Cooking, for him, began as a way to take control.
"Food is personal," he says. "When I cook, it’s for me first. I want it to taste exactly how I think it should." For Milan, food is also a historical and cultural artifact. Every dish reflects centuries of tradition, illustrating where we’ve been as humans and where we’re heading.
Milan’s journey on TikTok began after a video of him making beef Wellington, edited by his sister Malaika, went viral. Fame wasn’t his goal—he just wanted to share his food with the world.
"I didn’t even know I had gone viral until my sister told me," Milan laughs. "It was just for fun, but it blew up." The account, originally his sister’s, is now a mix of casual cooking sessions and culinary storytelling.
Milan doesn’t follow the influencer playbook. There’s no pressure, no curated content calendar, he says. He also doesn’t post too much about other parts of his life, preferring to show only his culinary side on the internet.
Milan’s journey to television fame was an unexpected twist, but he approached it with the same laid–back attitude. A random email found in the inbox of his TikTok inquiries address led him to a spot on Top Chef and Top Chef Family Style, a competitive cooking show where young chefs and their family members cook for celebrity judges.
"I thought the email was a scam at first," Milan admits, laughing. "But I figured, why not?"
Over two months of filming, Milan focused less on the competition and more on the experience. "It was more about the vibes," he says. "I’m not enough of a diva to make good reality TV. I just wanted to cook."
Though Milan was eliminated by none other than JoJo Siwa, he wasn’t upset. "By the time I left, I was ready to get back to cooking for myself," he says. But the best part of the experience? The friends he made along the way. "I’m still in touch with a lot of the contestants," Milan says. "It was just a fun time hanging out with people who shared my passion."
Milan’s first taste of the professional culinary world came during his sophomore year in high school when he worked in the kitchen of a French restaurant. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the world of fine dining kitchens—where he spent hours peeling potatoes and meticulously garnishing plates—wasn’t the creative playground he had imagined. "Guess I’ll go to college," he jokes. His love for cooking has flourished at Penn, where he can experiment in friends’ kitchens—whether perfecting his signature rigatoni (his favorite, thanks to the "perfect pasta–to–sauce ratio") or attempting to bake the Basque cheesecake he fell in love with on a trip to Spain.
Milan finds joy not only in the process but also in the finished product. “There’s no fun in making a dish if I’m not the one who gets to enjoy it at the end,” he admits with a smile.
Despite his love for trying new things, Milan keeps his dishes simple. “Ravioli? Way too high maintenance,” he laughs. “I’d much rather make rigatoni—every bite feels like the perfect sandwich.” His obsession with balance and texture is evident in everything he creates, whether it’s the al dente perfection of his pasta or a steak bathed in Kerrygold garlic butter (always Kerrygold).
If Milan’s kitchen is his canvas, then the stories behind food are his palette. His fascination with Japanese cuisine, for example, isn’t just about the rich flavors of dishes like ōtoro (fatty tuna belly); it’s about the discipline and reverence that define the craft.
“You don’t just wake up one day and start cutting fish for sushi,” Milan says. “It takes years of training to master the perfect slice. Every cut, every bite, needs to be precise—that’s what makes Japanese cuisine so challenging.”
Milan’s approach to food is deeply tied to the traditions that come with each dish. If he could, he’d travel abroad to train under a master chef, specifically to perfect the art of slicing salmon for sushi. For him, creating food is as much about respecting and honoring tradition as it is about enjoying the flavors on the plate.
"It's not just about making something that tastes good—it's about understanding where that dish comes from," he says. "Italian food didn’t even have tomatoes until after the Columbian Exchange, and now they’re essential. Japanese cuisine has remained largely unchanged for centuries due to isolationism, and even the way they make kimchi in Korea has evolved with climate changes over the years. Every dish means something."
When asked who he would cook for, dead or alive, Milan chooses Anthony Bourdain without hesitation. “I don’t think I have anything special enough to cook for him that would stand out,” he admits. Instead, he’d prefer to cook with Bourdain, discussing the cultural context of each dish along the way. “Bourdain saw food as more than something you eat.”
Milan’s curiosity about food is something he inherited from his mother, who was a master at improvising with ingredients. “She joked about opening a restaurant called ‘Scraps,’ where she’d take leftovers from fine dining restaurants and turn them into something new. That’s how she cooked—nothing wasted, everything has a place,” Milan says.
While his mom’s ingenuity shaped his love for experimentation, there’s one cuisine Milan rarely attempts—Indian food. "That’s my mom’s domain," he says with a smile. "I’d rather have her cook it than try to replicate it myself. Besides, I like to push boundaries with Western dishes." One of his favorites from his mother’s kitchen is a simple, comforting roti with chocolate chips—a dessert that’s resourceful yet nostalgic, representing both his heritage and his mom’s knack for transforming ingredients.
As for what’s next, Milan isn’t too concerned. Whether he’s exploring new restaurants, perfecting his favorite dishes, or simply sharing meals with friends, one thing remains constant: cooking will always be a part of his life. “I think everyone should know how to cook,” he says. “Why rely on other people for the perfect bite when you can make it yourself?”
One challenge Milan is eager to take on next? Perfecting falafel, a dish he hasn’t yet mastered but is excited to tackle. Adjusting to Penn dining has been less than ideal, though. With his dining dollars nearly gone, Milan admits, “I’m not a fan of the Hill/Commons all–you–can–eat model. I’m all about quality over quantity.” Until he gets his own kitchen, he’s been relying on takeout or borrowing friends’ kitchens to whip up something more his style.
His advice to fellow college students navigating the struggle of campus dining? Master one go–to dish. “If you can chop onions and garlic well, you can make a million different meals,” Milan says.
Milan may not have every detail of his future mapped out, but one thing is certain: His kitchen will always be a place where stories are told, traditions are honored, and every bite reflects both self and society. For Milan Bhayana, cooking isn’t just about making great food—it’s about understanding who we are, one dish at a time.
