Dear Vodka, You Just Made a Pregnant Woman Very Happy

I really hope none of you call Child Protective Services on me for that title.
Sorry I haven't written in so long; in case you didn't guess from the blatant title, I am currently pregnant with our third (yikes!) child. And here's one thing I've learned so far: it's impossible to cook in the first trimester.
Not only did I feel mostly like crap, but my tastebuds were really, really wonky. I ate olives for every single meal (okay, that's not entirely unheard of for me) and added garlic to absolutely everything. And since I felt like crap and mostly ate bruschetta, olives, and frozen foods from Trader Joe's for four months, I figured you readers wouldn't really want to hear about it.
But here is something you will want to hear about: penna alla vodka.
For those of you who've had the wonderful fortune to spend any time in Italy, you know the culinary wonders that one can experience in any (really, any) small side-street cafe. Unfortunately most of us tourists usually stick to the lame, boring foods we recognize (manicotti, ravioli, pizza). But one of the delights of the Italian cuisine is penne alla vodka. Recently, this sauce has enjoyed a larger audience stateside thanks to the fine folks in the canned pasta-sauce industry, but nothing that comes from a can possibly does justice to true penne alla vodka
You know you've found a good penne alla vodka recipe when you just can't stop eating it. It's like an addictive drug; you just keep eating and eating, even when your stomach hurts and you think you might not be able to chew and swallow one more bite, because it's that damn good. (Having actually tried an addictive drug in my naughty college years, I know firsthand that this is not an unfair comparison)
I've been craving penne alla vodka for the last two weeks, and today I finally had enough free time to spend three hours online, searching for recipes, reading the comments, comparing, contrasting, etc. The end result was chosen not because it sounded the best, or the most authentic, but because the process sounded so strange that I just had to try it. I mentally prepared myself for catastrophic failure and leftover spanakopita for dinner and got to work on this recipe from one of my fave sites, epicurious.com
I only made two changes: I added a box of Citterio cubetti pancetta and sauteed it until crispy before adding the garlic, and I eliminated the parsley and used a handful of chopped basil, which I stirred in with the parmesan. And honestly, I don't think the recipe would have been nearly as good without the pancetta. It added flavor, texture, and the meat factor without which the carnivorous husband would be lost.
I'm not really sure why the recipe calls for peeling, smashing, and sauteing the garlic, only to have you pull it out before serving. In the future, I'll cut down the garlic from ten cloves to five, mince it and leave it in. I have a sneaking suspicion that the point is to have a smooth sauce, but with the addition of the pancetta the smooth sauce goes out the window.
The sauce came together beautifully, and I was really impressed with how well it reduced. I also loved adding the al dente pasta to the finished sauce and simmering it all together until the sauce clung to the penne perfectly. And it tasted really good too; even my four year old said it was "a really yummy dinner."
Sadly, however, it didn't have that luscious, addicting quality that so distinguishes a great penne alla vodka.
I have a few guesses why. First, I think that the vodka and the cream need to be doubled. The sauce was really acidic and retained that sharp tomato-ey flavor that makes marinara wonderful but really shouldn't be present in a vodka sauce. It may have helped to add a tablespoon of sugar at the end to round out the flavors and tone down the acidity, but I think doubling the vodka and cream and increasing the reduction times would probably eliminate the need for this.
I also think I need to add some shallots. Not too much, but enough to give it just one more element. One of the beautiful things about a vodka sauce is the incredible dimension it has; all the flavors work together to create this harmonious, remarkable sauce that is so well blended and so perfectly cooked that it is impossible to pick out individual ingredients. It's like the culinary version of listening to Collegium Cantorum.
Any of you guys have experience with a vodka sauce, or suggestions about how to achieve that perfect flavor? I'll be trying it again as soon as I finish our leftovers (it really was good, it just wasn't perfect.)
And I'll be getting back to my regularly-scheduled posting. I hope you faithful few readers (and I think you're composed almost entirely of my mother-in-law) haven't given up on me!