Picnic food Paranoia

The scene-
A picnic at a well known outer Melbourne suburban picnic spot- an annual gathering of employees of a private health provider. Theres at least thirty of us. Several children, a few teenagers, a few young couples, singles, and a majority of middle aged couples. We have amongst us, a majority of Asian origin people, from the Chinese mainland and from Hong Kong and Thailand; we have English, Canadian, Croatian, French, Polish, Indian and of course Irish. Notably absent are our Egyptian and Russian friends, and more's the pity.
We're all looking forward to each other's food, tasting exotic cuisines.
But where does that leave me- An Australian English descendant with about a 32nd part of Maori in me?
 Do I even have a cuisine? One of my favourite styles of food is Asian- so I'm not going to do that- and just as well, Flora from Thailand brings Tom Kha Gai, piping hot in a huge pot, a delicious herb salad with Thai Dressing, and a plate of beef carpaccio adorned with olives, feta and capers. Wei makes skewers of beef, chicken, chicken wings in delicious salty and spicy flavourings. Marie-Lau makes a buttery rich quiche, served in a traditional earthenware fluted tin, and a banana cake, flecked with chunks of chocolate. It looks high and proud like a brioche, tastes amazing and I am instantly jealous of this young woman's heritage and baking prowess. Kate brings an deliciously simple salad of coarsely grated beetroot, onion, carrot and coriander.
I quickly wizzed up a frittata, early in the morning- a variation on the tortilla/zucchini pie- mandolinned potato and zucchini, sweated off in olive oil with onion, then added to whisked up eggs and cream, some torn smoked salmon and lots of parsley and chives. I buy dinner rolls, grab chicken chipolattas and my home made chilly jam, and off we go- but my cooking confidence is low, considering the field of experts I know I am sharing with. And yet what I have made is automatic- it's from this huge repertoire I'm gathering- and I'm not even a very adventurous cook, compared to the likes I see on  'reality' TV cooking shows.
But I do like food; and I love it especially when it is of good quality, well thought out, quickly thrown together, rustic, wholesome, tasty, full of texture. Low fat, high fat, vegetarian, meaty, preserved, fresh- I don't really care, as long as it's been made with the best ingredients money can buy, or hands can nurture in a garden. I don't have a 'cuisine' as such, and I guess, like my own nationality, somewhat flecked with Polynesian, enriched with having lived in urban New Zealand , in 'alternate' rural NSW, country Victoria and in cosmopolitan Melbourne; I am in a broad church, culturally speaking. I love it and won't fight the outcome- a confused but happy mish-mash of things I've found and loved along the way.
 I can't lay hold of a specific food tradition I want to identify with as an Australian or a Kiwi- I really don't want to be tarred with any brush. A bit like my tastes in music and Literature, I am an eclectic appreciator of all.
Take me to a hangi full of pork and fish and I am in raptures, as I am in the company of Chinese people serving up traditional home-made delights. I can cook a mean scone, I can ice a cup-cake, and I can do a roast lamb to a turn- but I will spike it with Mediterranean delights, I will "French-ify" a chicken, and I will never, ever, ever, EVER serve a piece of steak or a chop with plain cooked vegetables.
I doubt very much that I am a rarity- I think I am very much an average cook, in an average experience, if there is such a thing. And I suspect my friends at this picnic don't think anything very different to me- I think enjoying each other's food and cultural uniqueness is as enjoyable for them as it is for me.
Sunday's picnic allayed my fears of incompetency, the relaxed and carefree sharing of each other's tastes was only a vehicle to a further end- that of friendship and common understanding after all.