Fellow fish of the seven seas, thank you for attending this emergency meeting. Our people are in crisis. Our enemy: the pig. Oh, how diners worship him, that high priest of the sacred farm, that chef darling. Where’s our sardine-of-the-month club? Where’s our boutique pasture? We have to share our waters with stinky, leaky tankers, and we haven’t had a proper spokesperson since that Nemo twit. But, friends, good news on the horizon. A stunning new temple, a shrine to our fishy wonderfulness. Marea opens this weekend in New York City. Start swimming. Chef Michael White (Convivio, Alto) knows a good thing when he sees it. He’ll worship us in the Italian way — at a rosewood crudo bar; in conjugal bliss with hand-made fusilli, gnocchi, cavatelli; or one-upping lardo on sea urchin crostini. Send word to the swine: He can swim with the … you know. Marea, 240 Central Park South, between Seventh Avenue and Broadway (212-582-5100).